.^^555wom^ 


'^^OtOGICM.  SE»^!^ 


BV   3271    . 

.J83 

K4    1860 

Kendrick, 

,    A. 

C.    1809- 

■1895. 

The  life 

and 

letters 

of  Mrs. 

Emily  c. 

Judson 

''-0 


cy-] 


Sv 


^-1  ^  ¥  J   ^ft 


THE 


LIFE   AND   LETTERS 


OF 


MRS.   EMILY  C.  JUDSON. 


B  Y 


A.    C.     K  E  N  D  R  I  C  K, 

PEOFBSSOE   OP   GREEK    LITERATURE   IN   THE    UNIVERSITY    OF    ROOHESTBaB. 


NEW    YORK: 

SHELDON  &  COMPANY,  ns  NASSAU  ST. 

BOSTON:    GOULD    &   LINCOLN. 


1860, 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1860,  by 

SHELDON    &    COMPANY, 

In  Lhe  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  (1'3  3outhem 

District  of  New  York. 


stebkottped  by  pkinted  by 

Smith   &McDoitoal,  Pfdney   &K0S8eh 

82  &  84  Beekman-st.  N.  Y.  79  John-street,  N.  Y. 


PREFACE. 

It  is  with  unfeigned  diffidence  that  the  writer  com- 
mits this  work  to  the  public.  A  niau  writing  the  memoir 
of  a  woman — a  digger  among  Greek  roots  writing  the  life 
of  a  sensitive  child  of  genius  and  song — a  not  very  intimate 
acquaintance  delineating  a  character  to  which  the  most 
thorough  knowledge  could  hardly  do  justice,  constitutes 
a  triad  of  difficulties  which  he  can  scarcely  hope  to  have 
overcome.  The  author  undertook  the  work  reluctantly, 
and  he  will  be  abundantly  satisfied  if  it  shall  make  upon 
tbe  mind  of  the  reader  that  impression  of  the  rare  ex- 
cellence of  its  subject  which  the  study  of  her  life  and 
letters  has  left  upon  his  own. 

Mrs.  Judson  was  a  very  voluminous  correspondent, 
and  the  selection  from  her  letters,  often  of  very  nearly 
equal  merit,  was  a  matter  of  considerable  difficulty. 
Sometimes,  doubtless,  the  selection  might  have  been 
made  more  wisely,  and  many  have  been  omitted  which, 
with  larger  limits,  he  would  gladly  have  inserted.  The 
reader  should  remember  that  Mrs.  Judson's  letters  were 
written  amidst  the  pressing  duties  of  a  very  busy  life  ; 
often  from  a  sick  bed  ;  often  when  her  brain  was  over- 
tasked, and  well  nigh  exhausted  by  the  drafts  for  the 
press  ;  and  her  letters,  therefore,  could  be  hardly  ex- 


IV  PKEFACE. 

pected  to  be  always  a  fair  measure  of  her  intellectual 
powers.  Still  they  will  not,  I  think,  be  found  unworthy 
of  her  reputation. 

The  true  lover  of  poetry  will  not,  I  trust,  complain 
of  the  number  of  her  poetical  pieces  inserted  in  the 
memoir,  for  most  of  these  are  such  as  will  always  find  a 
welcome,  and  they  will,  in  fact,  enhance  very  consider- 
ably the  interest  of  the  volume.  My  chief  apology, 
however,  for  inserting  them  is  that  they  belong  in  a 
preeminent  degree  to  her  life.  They  grow  directly  out 
of  the  critical  passages  of  her  history,  and  they  at  once 
illustrate  her  feelings  amidst  these  scenes,  and  derive 
from  the  circumstances  under  which  they  were  written 
fresh  force  and  beauty.  They  come  from  her  heart  more 
than  from  her  intellect ;  they  belong  to  her  life  even 
more  than  to  her  works. 

In  parting  with  the  work,  I  would  express  my  grati- 
tude to  the  family  and  personal  friends  of  Mrs.  Judson, 
who  have  furnished  valuable  materials.  To  Kev.  Dr. 
Bright  I  am  under  very  peculiar  obligations  for  his 
patient  kindness  in  listening  to  the  reading  of  my 
manuscript  during  the  hot  month  of  August,  and  for 
the  important  information  and  numerous  valuable  sug- 
gestions by  which  he  has  improved  the  work.  With  this 
I  submit  it  to  the  public,  earnestly  hoping  that  it  may 
subserve  the  great  cause  to  which  Mrs.  Judson's  life  was 
devoted. 

Ukiveesitt  of  Eochesteb,  September,  1860. 


.  CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

L — Aldekbeook ^ 

n. — Autobiography  op  her  Childhood 12 

m.— The  New  Life 33 

ly. — The  School-Teacher , 40 

Y. — "  Author-Laistd" 53 

VI. — ^Lights  and  Shades "70 

Vn.— "PaNxVY  Forester" 92 

YIIL— The  Invalid lit 

IX. — The  Convalescent 123 

X. — The  Betrothal 141 

XI. — The  Consecration 166 

Xn.— The  Marriage 192 

XIIL— Outward  Bound 21*7 

XIY.— The  Orient 235 

XY, — Reconnoitering 250 

XYL— "Bat  Castle" 264 

XYII. — ^Unclouded  Sunshine 286 

XYIII.— Gathering  Clouds 298 

XIX. — Self-Communings 319 

XX. — The  Bereavement 329 

XXI. — Homeward  Bound 348 

XXII.— Home 363 

XXIII.— The  Restrung  Harp 3*73 

XXIY.— The  Mother 385 

XXY.— Rest 405 

XXYI. — The  Retrospect 413 


CHAPTER  I. 

ALDEEBROOK. 

"  The  floating  clonds  their  state  shall  lend 
To  her  ;  for  her  the  willow  bend  : 
Nor  shall  she  fail  to  see, 
Even  in  the  motions  of  the  storm, 
Grace  that  shall  mould  the  maiden's  form, 
By  silent  sympathy. 

The  stars  of  midnight  shall  be  dear 

To  her  ;  and  she  shall  lean  her  ear 

In  many  a  secret  place, 

Where  rivulets  dance  their  wayward  round, 

And  beauty,  born  of  murmuring  sound. 

Shall  pass  into  her  face." 

About  thirty  miles  south  from  Utica,  in  Central  New 
York,  on  the  head  waters  of  the  Chenango  Eiver,  and  at 
the  head  of  the  charming  valley  which  follows  the  wind- 
ings of  that  stream  in  its  picturesque  course  to  the 
Susquehanna,  lies  Hamilton,  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful interior  villages  of  the  State,  and  the  seat  of  the 
literary  and  theological  institution  known  as  Madison 
University.  Here  the  parents  of  Mrs.  Emily  C.  Judson 
spent  nearly  the  last  twenty  years  of  their  lives  ;  here 
Mrs.  Judson  was  married;  and  hither  she  finally  came  back 
to  die.  Bordering  Hamilton  on  the  southeast,  lies  the 
the  broken  and  hilly  township  of  Brookfield  ;    to  the 


8  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

southwest  a  considerable  range  of  hills  separates  it  from 
the  "neat  and  thriving  village  of  Eaton,  four  miles  dis- 
tant. North  of  this  latter  place,  in  the  same  town,  lies 
the  somewhat  larger  village  of  Morrisville.  Northeast 
of  Morrisville  is  the  small  settlement  of  Pratt's  Hollow, 
or  Prattsville  ;  Smithfield,  with  its  pleasant  village  of 
Peterboro',  joins  it  on  the  north ;  and  about  ten  miles 
west,  on  one  of  our  lovely  little  inland  lakes,  is  Cazen- 
ovia,  the  seat  of  a  flourishing  institution  of  learning, 
founded  by  the  Methodists.  These  and  many  other  vil- 
lages lying  in  Madison  county,  dot  the  surface  of  an 
elevated  and  broken,  but  picturesquely  diversified,  and 
not  unfruitful  region — a  region  where  winter  holds  a 
long  and  rigorous  sway,  but  which  blooms  into  varied 
and  most  attractive  loveliness  under  the  balmy  influence 
of  summer. 

About  a  mile  and  a  half  south  of  Eaton  village,  the 
road  passes  through  a  sequestered  and  narrow  valley, 
where  nestles  in  the  hillside  a  small  dwelling,  known  to 
the 'readers  of  Fanny  Forester's  sketches  as  Underhill 
Cottage.  The  road  which  now  winds  at  its  foot  formerly 
ran  above  it,  so  that  the  roof  of  the  cottage  scarcely  rose 
above  its  level,  and  you  did  in  truth  feel  half  disposed 
"  to  step  from  the  road  where  you  stood  to  the  tip  of  the 
chimney,"  that  peeped  out  from  its  verdurous  shelter. 
For  a  description  of  the  cottage  as  it  was  and  is,  I  must 
send  the  reader  to  Miss  Forester's  faithful  portraiture. 
Embosomed  in  trees  and  shrubbery,  the  clematis  wreath- 
ing itself  about  the  humble  portico  ;  the  wild  vine  and 
the  eglantine  clambering  over  the  windows  and  the  roof ; 
the  myrtle  and  the  roses  blending  their  green  and  fra- 
grance, it  amply  justifies  her  description,  and  realizes  our 
ideal  of  a  thoroughly  rural  residence.     At  some  distance 


ALDERBROOK.  y- 

below,  through  the  bottom  of  the  valley,  wound  a  small 
streamlet,  fringed  with  alders,  while  beyond  rises  a  range 
of  hills,  covered  partly  with  forests,  partly  with  wild 
briars — the  whole  forming  a  scene  of  romantic  loveli- 
ness such  as  might  have  inspired  the  pen  that  portrayed 
the  scenery  of  the  Lady  of  the  Lake.  This  spot^-the 
cottage,  the  brook,  the  valley,  the  hills  which  embosom 
them — the  pen  of  genius  has  consecrated  to  the  world 
as  Alderbrook.  Some  of  the  accessories  to  the  picture, 
Emily,  with  a  romancer's  license,  borrowed  from  the 
neighboring  village  of  Morrjsville,  and  her  use  of  the 
term  stretches  over  a  somewhat  fluctuating  territory. 
But  all  the  actual  elements  of  the  scene  she  has  de- 
lineated with  equal  spirit  and  fidelity. 

I  said  the  streamlet  wound — not  winds — through  the 
valley  beneath  the  cottage  ;  for  that,  within  a  few  years, 
has  become  a  thing  of  the  past.  The  ruthless  march  of 
improvement  has  invaded  these  sacred  precincts  ;  the 
clang  of  machinery  breaks  the  stillness  of  the  secluded 
valley  ;  its  broad  tributary  expanse  of  water  now  rolls 
over  the  little  brook  and  its  fringe  of  green  ;  and  Aider- 
brook,  touched  by  the  magic  of  genius,  is  "Alderbrook," 
indeed,  still,  and  for  ever — ^but  it  is  alder-brook  no  longer. 
Thus  does  the  remorseless  touch  of  enterprise  brush  away 
the  golden  hues  of  the  ideal.  So  it  is  to  be ;  and  in 
an  age  when  omnibuses  thunder  by  the  olive  garden 
of  Plato,  when  the  steam- whistle  startles  the  hoary  cen- 
turies that  look  down  from  the  summits  of  the  Pyra- 
mids, and  threatens  the  sacred  solitudes  of  Olivet  and 
Tabor,  so  humble  a  bit  of  romance  as  Alderbrook  may 
not  hope  to  escape  unprofaned.  But  the  true  "  hallowed 
ground"  of  earth  is  in  the  human  heart ;  the  consecrated 
spots  of  genius,  driven  from  the  dusty  and  noon-day 

1* 


10  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

glare  of  the  actual,  live  inViolate  in  the  haunted  realm, 
the  "  dim,  religious  light"  of  the  imagination. 

In  the  little  cottage  thus  signalized,  Emily  Chubhuck 
was — ^not  born  ;  but  in  a  small  dwelling  near  by,  now 
no  longer  standing.  But  here  she  spent  most  of  her 
early  childhood  ;  this  she  often  afterward  revisited,  and 
ever  cherished  with  peculiar  affection  ;  and  this,  perhaps, 
beyond  any  other  spot  on  earth,  was  endeared  to  her 
heart  and  her  fancy  by  the  sacred  associations  of  home. 
In  the  shade  of  those  embowering  trees  she  and  her 
sisters  played  ;  along  that  murmuring  brook  they  wan- 
dered in  childish  glee  ;  and  among  those  wild  and  ro- 
mantic hills  they  learned  to  love  nature  in  all  her  varied 
aspects  of  suUenness  and  beauty. 

She  was  born  August  22,  1817,  of  poor,  but  repu- 
table parents,  who  removed  to  this  region  from  New 
Hampshire  in  1816,  when  the  country  was  'compara- 
tively new.  They  had  formerly  been  in  comfortable 
circumstances,  though  never  wealthy.  Her  father  was 
a  man  of  more  than  ordinary  intelligence  ;  but  failed 
to  combine  with  it  much  of  that  practical  shrewdness 
and  energy  so  necessary  to  worldly  prosperity.  Tried  hy 
life's  lower,  material  standard,  his  life  was  a  failure ; 
tried  by  its  higher,  spiritual  standard,  it  was  a  gratifying 
success.  Emily's  mother  also  was  a  woman  of  fine  in- 
tellect, and  endowed  with  much  of  that  force  of  will 
and  practical  sagacity  in  which  her  husband  was  de- 
ficient. Both,  with  all  who  knew  them,  were  in  char- 
acter above  any  whisper  of  reproach.  Beyond  these 
brief  statements,  Emily  has  spared  her  biographer  the 
labor  of  an  extended  record.  The  following  little  sketch 
of  her  parentage  and  childhood,  drawn  up  for  her  hus- 
band, is  too  interesting  to  be  withheld  from  the  reader. 


ALDERBROOK.  11 

What  its  details  may  be  thought  to  lack  in  dignity  will 
be  more  than  made  up  by  the  light  which  they  shed  on 
the  hidden  springs  of  her  character  and  destiny  They 
strike  to  the  inner  heart  of  her  biography,  and  show  us 
in  what  a  school  of  suiFering  and  self-denial  God  was 
fitting  her  for  her  life-work.  They  will  be  read  with 
tearful  interest  by  her  admirers,  and  teach,  we  hope, 
to  many  youthful  hearts  lessons  of  thankful  resignation 
and  resolute  purpose. 


CHAPTER    II. 

AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    HEE    CHILDHOOD. 

"  The  roots  how  bitter !— yet  the  fruits  are  sweet  I" 

"Sorrows  that  are  sorrows  still, 
Lose  the  bitter  taste  of  woe ; 
Nothing  's  altogether  ill 
In  the  griefs  of  long  ago." 

NOTES  OF  MY  EARLY  LIFE,  PREPARED  PARTLY  FROM   MEMORY,  AND  PARTLY 
FROM  LETTERS   AND   PAPERS.      (FOR  MY   HUSBAKD.) 

John  Chubbuck  was  a  native  of  Wales,  though  of 
Enghsh  parentage.  He  emigrated  to  the  American  colo- 
nies somewhere  about  the  year  1700.  The  vessel  in 
which  he  sailed  being  wrecked  off  Nantucket,  he  landed 
and  subsequently  took  up  his  permanent  residence  in 
that  vicinity.  His  son  Jonathan,  born  near  Nantucket, 
was  manied  to  Hannah  Marble,  a  worthy  and  pious 
woman,  by  whom  he  had  several  children.  Among 
them  was  Simeon,  my  paternal  grandfather.  Simeon 
Chubbuck  was  born  at  Bridgewater,  Massachusetts.  At 
the  breaking  out  of  hostilities  between  England  and 
her  colonies,  he,  though  only  sixteen  years  of  age,  en- 
listed as  a  volunteer  in  the  colonial  army,  and  continued 
in  the  service  until  peace  was  restored,  and  the  army 
disbanded.  He  afterward  married  Lydia  Pratt,  a  native 
of  Bridgewater,  by  whom  he  had  ^ve  sons  and  five 


AUTOBIOGKAPHY   OF   HER   CHILDHOOD.  13 

daughters.     Charles,  the  second  son,  was  born  at  Bed- 
ford, New  Hampshke,  March  3,  1780. 

James  Richards,  the  father  of  my  maternal  grand- 
father, was  a  native  of  England,  and  a  dissenter.  His 
son  Amos  married  Catharine  McCartney,  whose  father 
was  an  Irishman,  and  her  mother,  Mary  Bois,  a  French 
Huguenot.  My  maternal  grandfather  was  also  a  boy- 
volunteer  in  the  war  of  the  Revolution,  and  a  commis- 
sioned officer  in  the  last  war  of  the  United  States 
with  England.  Lavinia  Richards,  the  eldest  of  the 
thirteen  children  of  Amos  and  Catharine  McCartney 
Richards,  was  born  June  1,  1785,  at  Groffstown,  New 
Hampshire.  She  was  piously  educated  by  an  excellent 
mother,  and  at  an  early  age  united  with  the  Presby- 
terian church. 

Charles  Chubbuck  and  Lavinia  Richards  were  married 
November  17,  1805,  at  Goffstown,  New  Hampshire. 
They  subsequently  removed  to  Eaton,  Madison  county. 
New  York,  where  they  arrived  September  27,  1816. 
While  on  a  visit  preparatory  to  removal,  my  father 
gained  a  hope  in  Christ,  and  was  baptized  May  19, 
1816,  and  my  mother  followed  him  in  the  same  ordi- 
nance the  ensuing  November.  They  brought  with  them 
to  New  York  four  children. 

Lavinia  Richards  Chubbuck  was  born  at  Bedford, 
New  Hampshire,  September  28,  1806,  and  died  at 
Pratt^s  Hollow,  New  York,  June  22,  1829,'  after  a 
lingering  illness  of  about  five  weeks.  She  evinced  from 
childhood  singular  energy  and  strength  of  character, 
which  qualities  increased  as  trials  thickened  round  her 
path,  and  through  her  last  years  of  suffering  her  activity 
and  cheerfulness  never  failed.  She  was  converted  and 
baptized  at  the  commencement  of  her  illness,  and  from 


14  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

that  time  she  daily  grew  in  grace  until  the  end  of  her 
life.  Materials  for  a  memoir  (a  journal,  several  poems, 
letters,  etc.)  were  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  Kev.  Dr. 
Nathaniel  Kendrick,  who  arranged  them  for  the  press, 
and  left  them  at  a  publishing  house,  but  they  were 
never  heard  of  afterward.* 

Benjamin  Chubbuck  was  born  at  Bedford,  New 
Hampshire,  March  25,  1809.  When  about  seven  years 
of  age  he  had  an  alarming  attack  of  inflammation  of  the 
brain,  from  the  effects  of  which  he  never  fully  recovered. 
His  nervous  system  was  permanently  deranged,  and  some 
of  the  mental  qualities  entirely  suspended,  while  others 
remained  in  full  and  healthful  operation.  He  was  on 
this  account  a  source  of  constant  anxiety  up  to  the  time 
of  his  death,  which  took  place  at  the  house  of  our 
mother's  sister  in  Michigan,  September  1, 1846.  He  left 
a  wife  and  two  children. 

Harriet  Chubbuck  was  born  at  Goffstown,  New 
Hampshire,  November  18,  1811,  and  died  at  Morris- 
ville.  New  York,  December  6,  1831.  She  was  very 
beautiful  in  person,  and  fascinating  in  manners,  and  for 
a  time  was  the  pride  of  the  family.  After  her  conver- 
sion, less  than  a  year  previous  to  her  death,  her  natural 
gaiety  was  to  a  great  extent  subdued  ;  and  so  beloved 
had  she  rendered  herself,  that  her  death,  which  was  sud- 
den, threw  a  gloom  over  the  whole  community,  and  the 
funeral  services  were  disturbed  by  sobbings  from  different 
parts  of  the  house.  Her  mind  was  much  exercised  on 
the  subject  of  missions  ;  and  she  once  told  me,  in  strict 
confidence,  that  she  had  consecrated  herself  solemnly  to 

*  Lavinia  and  her  younger  sister  Harriet  arc  beautifully  commemorated 
by  Mrs.  Judson  in  the  small  volume  entitled  "My  Two  Sisters,"  written 
after  her  return  from  Burmah. 


AUTOBIOGKAPHY   OF   HER   CHILDHOOD.  -15 

this  cause — ^had  made  a  vow  which  nothing  but  death 
could  brjeak. 

John  Walker  Chubhuck  was  born  September  24, 1815, 
at  GofFstown,  New  Hampshire.  He  learned  the  business 
of  printing  at  Morrisville,  New  York,  and  afterward 
conducted  newspapers  at  Hamilton  and  Cazenovia.  He 
removed  to  Milwaukee,  Wisconsin  Territory,  in  1834, 
where  he  established,  in  connection  with  another  man, 
a  newspaper  which  has  since  been  permanent.  While 
residing  there  he  was  converted,  and  united  with  the 
Presbyterian  church. 

Sarah  Catharine  Chubhuck  was  born  at  Eaton,  New 
York,  October  25,  1816.  She  was  baptized  at  Morris- 
ville,  April,  1840. 

William  Wallace  Chubhuck  was  born  at  Eaton,  New 
York,  January  1,  1824.  He  learned  printing,  but  has 
devoted  his  life  principally  thus  far  to  editing  papers 
and  to  teaching.  , 

I  was  the  fifth  child,  and  the  first  born  out  of  New 
England.  I  was  born  August  22,  1817,  at  Eaton,  Madi- 
son county.  New  York.  I  was  an  exceedingly  delicate 
child,  and  my  mother  was  often  warned  that  she  could 
"  have  me  with  her  but  a  short  time.''  I  remember  being 
much  petted  and  indulged  during  my  first  years  (proba- 
bly on  account  of  the  fragility  of  my  constitution),  and 
also  being  several  times  prostrated  for  a  week  or  more 
after  a  day's  visit  with  my  little  cousins.  The  first  event 
of  any  importance  which  I  remember  is  the  conversion 
of  my  sister  Lavinia,  when  I  was  about  seven  years  of 
age.  My  little  cot  was  in  her  room  ;  and  as  she  grew 
worse  after  her  baptism,  the  young  members  of  the 
church  were  in  the  habit  of  spending  the  night  with 
her,  partly  in  the  character  of  watchers,  partly  because 


16.  LIFE   OP   MRS.    EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

of  a  unity  of  interest  and  feeling.  She  and  her  visitors 
spent  the  greater  part  of  the  night  in  conversation  and 
prayer,  without  any  thought  of  disturbing  so  sound  a 
sleeper  as  I  seemed  to  be.  I  was  a  silent,  sometimes 
tearful  listener  when  they  talked;  and  when  they  prayed, 
I  used  to  kneel  down  in  my  bed,  and  with  hands  clasped 
and  heart  uplifted,  follow  them  through  to  the  end.  I 
can  not  recall  my  exercises  with  any  degree  of  distinct- 
ness ;  but  I  remember  longing  to  go  to  heaven,  and  be 
with  Christ  ;  some  moments  of  ecstacy,  and  some  of 
deep  depression  on  account  of  my  childish  delinquencies. 
My  sister  used  often  to  converse  with  me  on  religious 
subjects  ;  and  I  remember  on  one  occasion  her  going  to 
the  next  room  and  saying  to  my  mother,  "  That  child's 
talk  is  wonderful  !  I  believe,  if  there  is  a  Christian 
in  the  world,  she  is  one."  For  a  moment  I  felt  a  deep 
thrill  of  joy,  and  then  I  became  alarmed  lest  I  should 
have  deceived  them.  The  effect  was  to  make  me  reserved 
and  cautious. 

April,  1828.  Eemoved  with  my  parents  to  Pratt's 
Hollow,  a  small  village,  where  there  was  a  woolen  fac- 
tory, and  immediately  commenced  work  at  splicing  rolls. 
We  were  at  this  time  very  poor,  and  did  not  know  on 
one  day  what  we  should  eat  the  next,  otherwise  I  should 
not  have  been  placed  at  such  hard  work.  My  parents, 
however,  judiciously  allowed  me  to  spend  half  my  wages 
(the  whole  was  one  dollar  and  twenty-five  cents  per  week) 
as  I  thought  proper ;  and  in  this  way,  with  numerous 
incentives  to  economy,  I  first  learned  the  use  of  money. 
My  principal  recollections  during  this  summer  are  of 
noise  and  filth,  bleeding  hands  and  aching  feet,,  and  a 
very  sad  heart. 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   HER   CHILDHOOD.  17 

December^  1828.  The  ice  stopped  the  water-wheel, 
and  the  factory  was  closed  for  a  few  months. 

January^  1829.  Entered  the  district  school,  and,  I 
believe,  acquitted  myself  to  the  satisfaction  of  every- 
body, my  poor  sick  sister  especially.  She  had  taken 
great  pains  with  my  education  while  I  was  at  work  in 
the  factory,  though,  as  we  worked  twelve  hours  a  day, 
and  came  home  completely  worn  out  with  fatigue,  I  was 
not  a  very  promising  subject. 

March,  1829.  The  factory  reopened,  and  I  left  school 
and  returned  to  my  old  employment. 

3Iay,  1829.  It  was  some  time  in  this  month,  but  I 
do  not  recollect  the  day,  that  the  carding- machine  broke, 
and  I  had  the  afternoon  to  myself  I  spent  all  my  little 
stock  of  money  in  hiring  a  horse  and  wagon,  and  took 
poor  Lavinia  out  driving.  We  spread  a  buffalo  robe  on 
a  pretty,  dry  knoll,  and  father  carried  her  to  it  in  his 
arms.  I  shall  never  forget  how  happy  she  was,  nor  how 
Kate  and  I  almost  buried  her  in  violets  and  other  wild 
spring  flowers.  It  was  the  last  time  that  she  ever  went 
out. 

June  23,  1829.  This  was  the  day  of  poor  Lavinia's 
death.  They  released  me  from  the  factory  four  days  on 
this  occasion,  and  0,  how  long  they  seemed  to  me  ! 
The  first  day  she  was  in  great  agony,  and  I  crept  as 
much  out  of  the  way  as  I  could,  and  scarcely  moved. 
The  next  day  she  rallied,  and  took  some  notice  of  me  ; 
but  the  women  (very  many  neighbors  had  come  in)  ap- 
peared just  as  busy  and  anxious  as  ever,  and  mother 
wept  incessantly.  Every  thing  appeared  strange  and 
unnatural  about  the  house,  and  I  thought  it  must  be 
unpleasant  for  her.  She  Idssed  me,  and  told  me  I  must 
be  a  good  girl ;  but  her  voice  sounded  hollow,  and  her 


18  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

lips  were  cold.  I  longed  to  do  something  for  her,  and 
remembering  her  extreme  fondness  for  flowers,  I  went  to 
a  neighbor's  and  begged  an  apron  full  of  roses.  When 
I  retm-ned  the  house  was  still  as  death.  I  entered  her 
room ;  they  were  kneeling  around  her  bed,  and  no  one 
took  any-  notice  of  me.  In  a  moment,  however,  she 
beckoned  to  me  with  her  finger,  and  when  I  put  the 
flowers  upon  the  bed  she  smiled.  She  tried  again  to 
turn  her  eje  upon  me,  but  it  would  not  obey  her  wiU. 
She  tried  to  speak,  but  her  lips  gave  no  sound.  She  lay 
quietly  a  few  moments,  then  suddenly  exclaimed,  "  Glory! 
glory !  my  Father  !  Jesus  !"  and  never  breathed  again. 
She  was  buried  at  Eaton,  being  a  member  of  the  church 
there. 

August,  1829.  My  health  failed  very  perceptibly  after 
my  sister's  death,  and  at  last  mother  called  in  a  physi- 
cian. He  said  that  I  could  not  live  where  I  was,  but 
must  have  my  freedom  and  fresh  air — a  home  on  a  farm, 
if  possible. 

1828-9.  I  believe  there  was  not  a  decidedly  vicious 
person  in  the  factory,  and  there  were  several,  both  men 
and  women,  who  were  pious.  Indeed,  there  was  less 
coarseness  and  vulgarity  among  them  than  would  be  sup- 
posed, though  they  were  certainly  far  from  being  the 
society  one  would  select  for  a  child.  The  girls  were, 
most  of  them,  great  novel  readers,  and  they  used  to  lend 
their  novels  to  me,  first  exacting  a  promise  that  I  would 
not  tell  my  mother  and  sister.  When  I  had  finished 
one  I  used  to  carry  out  the  story,  and  imagine  my  fav- 
orite character  going  on,  on — but  it  always  would  end 
in  death.  Of  what  avail,  then,  was  the  beauty  ?  Of 
what  use  the  wealth  and  honor  ?  At  other  times,  while 
at  my  work,  I  used  to  make  a  heroine  of  myself.     My 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF   HER   CHILDHOOD.  19 

Uncle  Jonathan  (who  was  lost  twenty  years  before  on  a 
voyage  to  India)  would  come  home  and  make  me  an 
heiress  ;  or  my  face,  which  people  used  sometimes  to 
praise,  would  become  so  beautiful  as  to  bewitch  the  whole 
world ;  or  I  should  be  a  brilliant  poetess  (my  verses 
were  greatly  admired  by  my  brother  and  sisters),  and 
my  name  would  be  famous  while  the  world  stood.  But 
nothing  satisfied  me.  Whatever  I  became,  I  should  die 
and  lose  it  all.  Then  common  sense  told  me  that  these 
great  things  were  unattainable,  and  I  would  moderate  my 
plans,  and  confine  my  wishes  within  narrower  limits. 
But  all  ended  in  the  same  way ;  death  would  come  at 
the  end,  and  then,  what  good  ? 

One  day  I  took  up  a  little,  dingy,  coarse  newspaper 
— the  Baptist  Begister  in  its  infancy — and  my  eye  fell 
on  the  words  :  "  Little  Maria  lies  by  the  side  of  her  fond 
mother."  I  had  read  about  the  missionaries,  and  my 
sister  had  told  me  respecting  them  ;  I  knew,  therefore, 
at  once,  that  the  letter  was  from  Mr.  Judson,  and  that 
his  little  daughter  was  dead.  How  I  pitied  his  loneli- 
ness !  And  then  a  new  train  of  thought  sprung  up, 
and  my  mind  expanded  to  a  new  kind  of  glory.  No, 
thought  I,  though  the  Burmans  should  kill  him,  I  will 
not  pity  him ;  and  I — yes,  I  will  be  a  missionary.  After 
this  I  had  my  romantic  dreams  of  mission  life  ;  but 
they  were  of  a  different  cast — of  suffering,  and  toil,  and 
pain  ;  and  though  they,  like  the  others,  ended  in  death, 
somehow  death  in  such  an  employment  came  pleasantly. 
I  read  the  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  and  thought  of  the 
golden  city  ;  then  I  read  the  Bible  more,  and  novels 
less. 

November y  1829.     Kemoved  to  a  farm  in  the  vicinity 
of  Morrisville  ;  Walker  entered  a  printing-office  in  the 


20  LIFE   OF    MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

village  ;  and  Harriet  returned  from  Courtland  county, 
■where  she  had  been  spending  half  a  year  with  some 
cousins.  We  suffered  a  great  deal  from  cold  this  win- 
ter, though  we  had  plenty  of  plain  food.  Indeed,  we 
never  were  reduced  to  hunger.  But  the  house  was  large 
and  unfinished,  and  the  snow  sometimes  drifted  into  it 
in  heaps.  We  were  unable  to  repair  it,  and  the  owner 
was  unwilling.  Father  was  absent  nearly  all  the  time, 
distributing  newspapers  ;  and  the  severity  of  the  winter 
so  affected  his  health  that  he  could  do  but  little  when 
he  was  at  home.  Mother,  Harriet,  and  I,  were  frequently 
compelled  to  go  out  into  the  fields,  and  dig  broken  wood 
out  of  the  snow,  to  keep  ourselves  from  freezing.  Cath- 
arine and  I  went  to  the  district  school  as  much  as  we 
could. 

January,  1830.  There  was  a  revival  of  religion  among 
the  Methodists  in  the  immediate  neighborhood,  and  one 
evening,  at  a  meeting,  those  who  wished  the  prayers  of 
Christians  were  requested  to  rise.  It  was  something  new 
to  me,  and  I  trembled  so  that  I  shook  the  seat,  and  at- 
tracted considerable  attention.  A  girl  next  me  whispered 
that  I  had  better  arise — she  was  sure  she  would  if  she 
felt  as  I  did  ;  and  a  class-leader  came  and  took  me  by 
the  hand,  so  that  I  succeeded  in  getting  upon  my  feet. 
After  this  I  attended  all  the  class-meetings,  and  thought 
it  a  great  favor  to  get  talked  with  and  prayed  for. 

February,  1830.  A  "  three  days'  meeting"  was  com- 
menced by  the  Baptist  church  in  Morrisville,  and  we 
all  attended.  The  revival  among  the  Methodists  had 
previously  prepared  our  minds,  and  Harriet,  especi- 
ally, was  deeply  affected.  This  meeting  was  followed 
by  a  similar  one  in  the  Presbyterian  church,  not  one 
hour  of  which   was  lost   to  Harriet    and    myself      A 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   HER   CHILDHOOD.  21 

great  many  young  persons  were  added  to  both  churches, 
among  the  most  joyful  of  whom  was  my  sister  Harriet. 
They  baptized  her,  while  I  looked  on  almost  broken- 
hearted. We  joined  two  weekly  bible- classes  at  the 
village  (a  mile  distant),  and  attended  all  the  meet- 
ings we  could  hear  of,  walking  when  father  was  away. 
When  he  was  at  home,  though  ever  so  much  fatigued 
and  ill,  he  was  too  happy  to  see  us  interested  in  relig- 
ious things  not  to  go  with  us.  I  recollect  feeling  my- 
self very  heart-heavy,  because  the  revival  had  passed 
without  my  being  converted.  I  grew  mopish  and  absent- 
minded,  but  still  I  did  not  relax  my  efforts.  Indeed,  I 
beheve  my  solemn  little  face  was  almost  ludicrously  fa- 
miliar to  worshipers  of  every  denomination,  for  I  remem- 
ber a  Presbyterian  once  saying  to  me,  as  I  was  leaving 
the  chapel,  after  having,  as  usual,  asked  prayers : 
"What!  this  little  girl  not  converted  yet!  How  do 
you  suppose  we  can  waste  any  more  time  in  praying 
for  you  ?" 

March,  ifeO.  Benjamin  came  home  (he  had  been  for 
five  years  in  the  employ  of  a  farmer),  and  he  and  father 
commenced  building  fences  and  other  spring  work.  Our 
house  had  always,  especially  after  Lavinia's  conversion, 
been  the  resort  of  very  pious  people,  and  a  favorite  home 
for  Hamilton  students.  We  had  now  a  large  house,  and 
they  made  it  a  place  of  frequent  resort.  I  remember 
several  whose  society  was  very  improving.  We  were 
also  well  supplied  with  choice  books,  a  luxury  which, 
even  in  our  deepest  poverty,  we  never  denied  ourselvtrs. 
For  we  had  been  taught  from  our  cradles  to  consider 
knowledge,  next  after  religion,  the  most  desirable  thing, 
and  were  never  allowed  to  associate  with  ignorant  and 
vulgar  children.  ^ 


22  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON.  * 

April,  1830.  Commenced  taking  lessons  in  rhetoric 
and  natural  philosophy  of  Miss  L.  W.  F.  C.  F.  also 
volunteered  to  train  me  in  English  compositioUj  but  she 
proved  a  dangerous  teacher.  She  had  read  novels  till 
her  head  was  nearly  turned,  and  had,  moreover,  imbibed 
infidel  sentiments  from  a  young  man  of  better  mind 
than  morals,  with  whom  she  was  too  well  pleased.  She 
was,  however,  supposed  to  be  a  safe  companion,  and  as 
my  health  was  the  principal  thing  that  brought  us  to 
the  farm,  I  was  allowed  to  spend  as  much  time  with 
her  as  I  pleased.  She  introduced  me  to  Gibbon,  and 
Hume,  and  Tom  Paine  ;  but  more  especially  to  Voltaire 
and  Kousseau,  whose  style  pleased  her  better.  She  read 
the  French  v/riters  in  the  originals,  though  she  had  access 
to  translations.  She  was  very  insinuating,  and  I  not 
only  loved  her  most  sincerely,  but  really  believed  her  one 
of  the  wisest  persons  in  the  world.  I  did  not  embrace 
her  sentiments,  however,  though  I  felt  my  confidence  in 
the  Bible  weakened,  and  lost,  to  a  great  extent,  my  re- 
ligious impressions.  Still  I  was  constant  in  my  attend- 
ance upon  divine  worship,  remained  a  member  both  of 
the  Bible-class  and  Sabbath-school,  and,  I  think,  never 
neglected  secret  prayer.  C.  F.  was  a  great  admirer  of 
the  misanthropic  school  of  poetry  ;  Byron,  especially, 
she  was  always  repeating,  and  used  actually  to  rave  over 
his  Manfred.  When  she  mounted  her  stilts  I  always 
trembled,  for  though  fond  of  being  with  her,  I  still  feared 
for  her.     She  was  seven  or  eight  years  older  than  I. 

November,  1830.  Father's  attempt  at  farming  proved, 
as  might  have  been  expected,  an  entire  failure,  and  for 
want  of  a  better  place,  he  determined  to  remove  to  the 
village.  He  took  a  little  old  house  on  the  outskirts,  the 
poQjest  shelter  we  ever  had,  with  only  two  rooms  on  the 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   HER   CHILpHOOD.  23 

floor,  and  a  loft,  to  which  we  ascended  by  means  of  a 
ladder.  We  were  not  discouraged,  however,  but  man- 
aged to  make  the  house  a  little  genteel,  as  well  as  tidy. 
Harriet  and  I  used  a  turn-up  bedstead,  surrounded  by 
pretty  chintz  curtains,  and  we  made  a  parlor  and  dining- 
room  of  the  room  by  day.  Harriet  had  a  knack  at 
twisting  ribbons  and  fitting  dresses,  and  she  took  in 
sewing  ;  Catharine  and  Wallace  went  to  school  ;  and  I 
got  constant  employment  of  a  little  Scotch  weaver  and 
thread-maker,  at  twisting  thread.  Benjaiain  returned  to 
his  old  place,  and  Walker  was  still  in  the  printing-office. 

April,  1831.  A  new  academy  had  been  erected  in  the 
village,  and  it  now  opened  with  about  a  hundred  pupils. 
I  was  one  of  the  first  to  attend.  As  soon  as  I  came 
home  at  night,  I  used  to  sit  down  to  sew  with  Harriet ; 
and  it  was  a  rule  never  to  lay  the  work  aside,  until,  ac- 
cording to  our  estimation,  I  had  earned  enough  to  clear 
the  expenses  of  the  day — tuition,  clothing,  food,  etc.  I 
have  since  thought  that  I  was  any  thing  but  a  help  to 
my  poor  sister,  as  she  always  gave  me  the  lightest  and 
easiest  work. 

June,  1831.  Were  surprised  by  a  visit  from  a  maiden 
sister  of  my  mother,  an  elegant,  dashing,  gaily- dressed 
woman,  who  contrasted  oddly  enough  with  our  homely 
house  and  furniture.  Harriet  and  I  estimated  that  the 
clothing  and  jewelry  she  carried  in  her  two  great  trunks 
would  purchase  us  as  handsome  a  house  as  we  wished. 
She  was  quite  surprised  to  find  us  in  such  humble  cir- 
cumstances, and  wondered  that  we  could  be  so  happy. 
She  told  me  a  great  deal  of  my  mother  as  she  was  in 
former  days,  and  frequently  wept  at  the  contrast. 

August,  1831.  The  first  term  of  school  closed,  and  I 
lost  no  time  in  going  into  the  employ  of  the  thread- 


24  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

maker.  While  standing  alone  in  his  house,  turning  my 
little  crank  all  day,  I  had  much  time  for  reflection,  and  I 
now  began  to  think  more  of  the  books  C.  F.  had  taught 
me  to  read.  If  I  was  to  be  a  missionary,  which  voca- 
tion I  had  never  lost  sight  of,  I  must  understand  how  to 
refute  all  those  infidel  arguments,  and  I  now  set  about 
it  with  great  earnestness.  When  I  was  puzzled  with 
any  thing,  I  used  to  g(J  to  Harriet,  or  father,  or  some  of 
our  visitors  ;  and  sometimes  I  startled  them  with  my 
questions,  which  showed  any  thing  but  an  orthodox  train 
of  thought.  I  knew  they  were  a  little  alarmed,  but  as 
I  was  constant  in  attending  the  meetings,  and  had  begged 
to  be  admitted  into  the  more  advanced  Bible-class,  as 
well  as  that  of  the  youth,  they  were  somewhat  appeased. 
About  this  time,  Walker  purchased  a  share  in  a  town 
library,  and  gave  me  the  privilege  of  drawing  one  book 
a  week.  The  first  thing  I  drew  (for  the  library  was  a 
heterogeneous  mass)  was  Paine's  ^^  Age  of  Keason."  Tlijs 
I  pored  over  carefully,  then  took  some  notes,  and  re- 
turned the  book  without  any  of  the  family's  knowing  that 
it  had  been  in  my  possession.  Father,  however,  dis- 
covered my  notes,  and  I  remember  that  he  looked  pale, 
and  his  hand  trembled,  when  he  showed  them  to  me, 
though  I  afterward  partly  succeeded  in  reassuring  him. 

October,  1831.  My  parents  concluded  it  would  be 
impossible  to  spend  the  winter  where  we  were  without 
suffering,  and  so  we  removed  to  a  nice  house,  in  a  pleas- 
ant part  of  the  village,  with  the  intention  of  taking  acad- 
emy boarders. 

November,  1831.  Aunt  Jane,  who  left  our  house  in 
June  to  visit  another  sister  in  Michigan,  returned,  and 
again  spent  a  week  with  us.  When  she  left  for  her 
home  in  New  Hampshire,  father  and  mother  accom- 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   HER   CHILDHOOD.  25 

panied  her  about  eighty  mileSj  to  visit  a  common  friend. 
They  had  been  gone  only  two  or  three  days,  when  Har- 
riet remarked  to  me,  one  morning,  "  I  am  afraid  I  am 
going  to  be  ill ;  I  never  felt  so  strangely  in  my  life."  As 
she  spoke,  I  observed  that  her  eye  glared  wildly  and  her 
cheeks  were  crimson.  I  took  her  hand,  and  it  felt  like 
fire.  She  snatched  it  away,  laughing,  and  said,  "  Now 
don't  be  alarmed,  child  ;  there  iS  nothing  the  matter  ;" 
and  then  she  went  on  talking  in  a  strain  perfectly  deliri- 
ous. I  was  alone  in  the  house,  and  dared  not  leave  her 
to  call  for  help  ;  and  for  a  few  moments  I  was  almost 
stunned  with  terror.  At  last  I  succeeded  in  inducing 
her  to  put  her  feet  into  warm  water,  and  drink  some 
bitter  herb  tea  ;  but  before  I  got  her  into  the  bed  I  was 
immensely  relieved  by  a  call  from  her  most  intimate 
friend,  M.  G.  I  immediately  ran  for  the  physician,  who 
pronounced  it  a  case  of  violent  inflammatory  fever.  By 
the  time  my  parents  returned  the  fever  had  taken  the 
typhoid  form,  but  after  a  time  it  abated,  and  reasonable 
hopes  were  entertained  of  her  recovery.  She  was  thin, 
but  her  fine  face  was  never  before  so  spiritually  beauti- 
ful, and  she  conversed  most  brilliantly,  using  the  choicest 
language,  and  overflowing  with  poetical  conceptions. 

December  6.  Two  or  three  days  previous  to  this,  the 
doctor  had  pronounced  poor  Harriet  on  the  verge  of  the 
grave  from  pulmonary  consumption ;  and  now  we  all 
knew  that  she  was  dying.  Her  reason  was  disturbed  by 
the  disease,  though  occasionally  she  would  rally  and 
speak  a  rational  word.  M.  G.  had  never  left  her  side 
from  the  morning  when  she  called  so  opportunely,  and 
now  Harriet  exhorted  her,  in  the  most  glowing  language, 
to  remain  steadfast  and  meet  her  in  heaven.  She  bade 
us  all  farewell  separately,  but  although  her  words  breathed 

2 


26  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

of  hope  and  trust,  and  she  seemed  full  of  Christ  and 
heaven,  she  expressed  herself,  during  most  of  the  time, 
incoherently.  At  first  she  was  in  great  agony,  but  grad- 
ually her  sufferings  abated,  till  we  scarcely  knew  when 
she  ceased  to  breathe.  Her  funeral  sermon  was  preached 
from  a  text  chosen  by  herself — Eccles.  xii.  1. 

January,  1832.  We  could  not  enjoy  the  privilege  of 
quiet  mourning,  for  a  great  number  of  boarders  came  in 
upon  us  ;  so  we  took  a  maid,  and  I  went  to  school.  On 
Monday  morning  I  used  to  arise  at  two  o'clock,  and  do 
the  washing  for  the  family  and  boarders  before  nine  ;  on 
Thursday  evening  I  did  the  ironing  ;  and  Saturday,  be- 
cause there  was  but  half  a  day  of  school,  we  made  bak- 
ing day.  In  this  way,  by  Katy's  help,  we  managed  to 
get  on  with  only  one  servant.  I  also  took  sewing  of  a 
mantua-maker  close  by,  and  so  contrived  to  make  good 
the  time  consumed  in  school.  My  class-mates  had  spent 
all  their  lives  in  school,  and  they  now  had  plenty  of 
leisure  for  study.  They  were  also,  all  but  one,  older 
than  myself,  and  I  therefore  found  it  a  difficult  task  to 
keep  up  with  them  without  robbing  my  sleeping  hours. 
I  seldom  got  any  rest  till  one  or  two  o'clock,  and  then 
I  read  French  and  solved  mathematical  problems  in  my 
sleep. 

March,  1832.  My  health  again  failed  under  my  ac- 
cumulated labors,  and  the  physician  was  consulted.  He 
said  study  disagreed  with  me,  and  I  must  leave  school. 

April  1,  1832.  Mother  insisted  on  my  giving  up  my 
studies,  and  hinted  that  I  might  make  millinery  a  very 
lucrative  business.  I  had  considered  it  all  very  well  to 
work  in  the  factory,  twist  thread,  and  take  in  a  little 
sewiog  now  and  then,  as  a  means  of  help  for  the  time 
being,  because  I  could  stop  when  I  pleased.     But  to  de- 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF   HER   CHILDHOOD.  27 

vote  my  life  to  making  bonnets  was  not  in  accordance 
witli  my  plans,  and  I  rebelled  most  decidedly.  ''  But 
what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?"  asked  my  mother  ;  "here 
you  are  almost  fifteen,  and  you  can  not  go  to  school  al- 
ways.'' That  was  true  enough,  and  I  went  away  to 
think.  At  length  I  proposed  attending  school  one  year 
more,  and  preparing  to  he  a  teacher.  But  our  hoarders 
had  proved  less  profitable  than  we  anticipated;  father 
had  been  underbid,  and  so  lost  one  mail  route  ;  and 
then  another  year  in  school  might  kill  me.  1  must 
think  of  something  else. 

April  5,  1832.  Mother  spoke  to  Miss  B.  about  taking 
me  into  her  shop,  and  as  I  was  already  expert  with  the 
needle,  she  was  able  to  make  very  good  terms.  I  cried 
all  night. 

April  6.     Went  to  Mr.  B ,  my  Academy  teacher, 

and  after  some  awkward  hesitation,  ventured  to  ask  if 
he  thought  me  capable  of  teaching  school.  "  Yes,"  said 
he,  "  but  you  are  not  half  big  enough."  He,  however, 
gave  me  a  recommendation,  and  promised  to  keep  the 
matter  secret. 

Ap)ril  7.    Told  mother  I  wanted  to  make  the  F k's 

a  visit,  which  she  was  pleased  to  hear,  as  they  lived  on 
a  farm,  and  she  thought  a  little  change  would  do  me 
good. 

April  8.     Father  carried  me  to  the  F k's  before 

breakfast,  a  drive  of  about  two  miles.  As  soon  as  he 
had  left  me,  I  inquired  if  their  school  was  engaged.  It 
was  ;  but  the  J.  district  had  not  yet  obtained  a  teacher, 
they  thought.  I  took  a  short  cut  across  the  lots,  and 
soon  stood  trembling  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  J.  He  was 
a  raw-boned,  red-headed,  sharp-looking  man,  in  cow-hide 
shoes,  and  red  flannel  shirt.    "  Is  your  school  engaged  ?" 


28  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

I  timidly  inquired.  He  turned  his  keen  gray  eye  upon 
me,  measuring  me  deliberately  from  head  to  foot,  while 
I  stood  as  tall  as  possible.  I  saw  at  once  that  it  was 
not  engaged,  and  that  I  stood  a  very  poor  chance  of  get- 
ting it.  He  asked  several  questions ;  whistled  when  I 
told  him  my  age ;  said  the  school  was  a  very  difficult 
one,  and  finally  promised  to  consult  the  other  trustees 
and  let  me  know  in  a  week  or  two.  I  saw  what  it  all 
meant,  and  went  away  mortified  and  heavy  hearted.  As 
soon  as  I  gained  the  woods,  I  sat  down  and  sobbed  out- 
rioht.  This  relieved  me,  and  after  a  little  while  I  stood 
upon  my  feet  again,  with  dry  eyes,  and  a  tolerably 
courageous  heart.  I  went  back,  though  with  great 
shame-facedness,  to  Mr.  J.,  and  inquired  the  way  across 
the  woods  to  Mr.  F.'s,  which  I  reached  soon  after  sunset. 
Here  I  found  my  old  friend,  C.  F.,  and  others  of  the 
family,  very  glad  to  welcome  me  ;  and  without  stating 
my  errand,  I  went  to  bed,  too  tired  and  anxious  to  be 
companionable. 

April  9.  Told  C.  F.  my  errand,  and  she  at  once  vol- 
unteered to  go  to  the  trustees  with  me  and  do  what  she 
could  in  my  behalf.  When  we  arrived  at  Mr.  D.'s,  she 
spoke  of  the  Morrisville  Academy,  inquired  if  they  knew 

the  principal,  Mr.  B ,  and  then  presented  my  recom- 

rfrendation,  which  I  had  not  ventured  to  show  the  day  be- 
fore. Mr.  D.  was  pleased,  said  he  had  heard  of  me,  and 
did  not  know  of  any  one  whom  he  should  like  so  well  for 
a  teacher.  He  hoped  his  colleagues  had  engaged  no  one, 
but  did  not  know,  as  Mr.  B.  was  the  acting  trustee.  To 
Mr.  B.'s  we  went,  a  frank,  happy-looking  young  farmer, 
with  a  troop  of  children  about  him,  and  made  known 
our  errand.  "Why,  the  scholars  will  be  bigger  than 
their  teacher,"  was  his  first  remark.    "  Here,  An't,  stand 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF    HER   CHILDHOOD.  29 

up  by  the  schoolma^am,  and  see  which  is  the  tallest ; 
An't  is  the  blackest,  at  any  rate/'  he  added,  laughing. 
He  would  not  make  any  definite  engagement  with  me,  but 
said  I  stood  as  fair  a  chance  as  anybody,  and  he  would 
come  to  the  village  next  week  and  settle  the  matter. 
"  You  have  got  it,"  said  C,  as  soon  as  we  were  out  of 
the  house.  I  was  not  so  sanguine,  but  I  was  too  far 
from  home  to  think  of  going  further,  and  so  I  had 
nothing  to  do  but  to  wait. 

April  10.     Left   the   F.^s,    and   without   seeing  the 

F ^k's  again,  walked  home,  a  distance  of  three  miles 

and  a  half 

April  14.  Mr.  B.  made  his  appearance,  and  an- 
nounced to  mother  (much  to  her  surprise  and  a  little  to 
her  embarrassment),  that  he  had  come  to  engage  her 
daughter  to  teach  school.  We  were  told  that  they  never 
paid  over  six  shillings  (seventy-five  cents)  a  week,  besides 
boarding ;  and  though  I  could  earn  as  much  with  the 
milliner,  and  far  more  at  twisting  thread,  we  were  all 
very  happy  in  the  arrangement.  Mother  had  intended 
putting  me  with  Miss  B.  only  for  want  of  something 
better,  and  now  she  was  highly  pleased,  particularly 
with  the  ability  I  had  shown  to  help  myself. 

May.  On  the  first  Monday  in  May  father  took  me  in 
his  wagon  to  Nelson  Corners.  The  school-house  was  a 
little  brown  building  on  the  corner,  all  newly  cleaned, 
and  in  good  repair.  About  twenty  children  came,  some 
clean,  some  pretty,  some  ugly,  and  all  shy  and  noisy.  I 
got  through  the  day  tolerably  well,  and  after  school  went 
to  Mr.  B.'s.  I  was  to  "  board  round,"  and  so  took  my 
first  week  with  the  leading  trustee. 

The  first  evening  at  Mr.  B.'s  passed  off  tolerably  well ; 
but  I  was  very  timid,  and  not  very  fond  of  visiting,  and 


30  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

I  had  neglected  to  provide  myself  with  either  work  or 
books.  The  B.'s  were  not  a  reading  people  ;  their  whole 
library  comprised  only  a  Bible  and  Methodist  hymn 
book,  and  there  was  not  a  newspaper  about  the  house. 
I  had  been  trained  in  habits  of  the  severest  industry,  and 
before  the  end  of  the  week  was  completely  miserable.  I 
had  no  congenial  society,  nothing  to  do,  and  I  had  in- 
tended, when  I  left  home,  to  be  absent  six  weeks.  I  was 
downright  home-sick,  and  after  the  third  day  could 
neither  eat  nor  sleep.  On  Saturday  I  closed  my  school 
at  noon,  and  without  taking  leave  of  the  B.'s,  hurried 
away  over  the  hills  to  Morrisville.  I  think  there  was  no 
happier  being  on  earth  than  I  when  I  bounded  into  the 
old  dining-room  ;  and  I  wept  and  laughed  together  all 
the  evening.  On  Monday  morning  father  carried  me 
back  in  his  wagon,  and  after  that  he  came  for  me  regu- 
larly every  Saturday  night,  and  left  me  at  the  school- 
house  Monday  morning. 

August,  1832.  Closed  my  school  and  returned  home. 
I  had  been  much  less  industrious  this  summer  than 
during  any  three  months  of  my  life  heretofore  ;  had  not 
beei^  very  conscientious  in  the  discharge  of  religious 
duties,  and  began  to  like  attention  and  praise.  I  had 
been  partly  under  the  influence  of  C.  F.,  and  there  were 
two  other  families  of  gay  young  people  with  whom  I  had 
been  on  terms  of  intimacy.  I  was  happy,  however,  to 
be  at  home  again,  and  none  of  the  family  seemed  to 
remark  any  change  in  me. 

November,  1832.  Entered  the  Academy  again,  sewing 
out  of  school  hours  as  before.  I  began  to  think  more  of 
my  personal  appearance,  and  of  intercourse  with  my 
fellow-students ;   hence  I  advanced  less  rapidly  in  my 


AUTOBIOGRAPHY    OF    HER   CHILDHOOD.  31 

studies  than  formerly,  though  I  still  made  very  respecta- 
ble proficiency. 

January  J  1833.  A  dancing-school  was  set  up  in  the 
village,  and  I  became  very  anxious  to  attend.  Walker 
volunteered  to  break  the  matter  to  my  father  and  mother, 
and  solicit  their  permission  for  me  ;  but  without  success. 
They  maintained  that  dancing  was  in  no  way  essential 
to  the  most  accomplished  education  ;  and  that  this  step, 
if  not  the  first  in  a  course  of  ruin,  would,  in  all  proba- 
bility, exert  a  determining  and  permanent  influence  on 
my  character  and  habits.  1  could  not  understand  their 
reasoning,  and  1  had  set  my  heart  on  attending  the  school, 
not  because  1  cared  in  the  least  for  dancing,  but  because 
the  other  village  girls  went,  and  1  wanted  to  be  like 
them.  I  believed  what  1  had  often  heard  and  read  about 
the  usefulness  of  this  accomplishment,  and  1  knew  that 
a  pleasing  personal  presence,  and  elegance  of  manner  were 
invaluable  to  a  woman;  I  therefore  used  all  my  powers  of 
persuasion,  and  harped  upon  the  subject  so  continually, 
that  father  lost  all  patience,  and  commanded  me  never  to 
allude  to  it  again  in  his  presence.  I  now  considered 
myself  very  ill-used,  and  thought  that  my  father's  ob- 
stinacy stood  directly  in  the  way  of  my  advan«erf!ent. 
Fixing  my  eye  on  a  single  point,  and  thinking  of  nothing 
else,  I  behaved  with  more  foolishness  than  would  have 
been  believed  possible.  I  told  mother  that  I  thought 
1  had  better  get  a  boarding-place  in  the  village ;  for, 
as  1  had  my  own  fortune  to  look  after,  I  ought  to  be 
allowed  to  follow  my  own  plans.  She  was  exceedingly 
distressed,  and  said  she  would  much  rather  have  me  at- 
tend the  dancing-school  than  do  so  wild  a  thing.  1 
suppose  she  talked  with  father ;  for  he  came  to  my  room 
one  evening,  and  said  he  thought  he  had  been  unwise  in 


32  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

laying  his  commands  upon  me.  He  spoke  most  feelingly 
of  having  been  able  to  do  so  little  for  his  children,  and 
of  his  strong  desire  to  see  them  virtuous  and  respected  ; 
and  said  I  would  one  day  learn  that  the  village  girls 
whom  I  w^ished  to  imitate  were  by  no  means  the  lady- 
like models  that  I  supposed.  He  then  removed  every 
obstacle  to  my  attending  the  dancing-school,  and  said 
that  though  he  and  my  mother  disapproved  of  it  in 
their  hearts,  I  should  be  subjected  to  no  annoyance.  I 
said  but  little,  though  I  inwardly  resolved  that  I  would 
never  learn  to  dance,  and  never,  while  I  lived,  grieve  my 
father  and  mother  again.  I  think  I  have  kept  both  of 
these  resolutions — the  first  certainly. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE        NEW        LIFE. 

"I  looked  to  tlie  west,  and  the  beautiful  sky, 

Which  morning  had  clouded,  was  clouded  no  more  j 
Even  thus,  I  exclaimed,  can  a  Heavenly  Eye 
Shed  light  on  the  soul  that  was  darkened  before." 

Mrs.  Judson's  manuscript  here  abruptly  closes,  and 
my  readers  will  regret  with  me  its  brevity,  and  that  we 
have  not  the  guidance  of  her  pen,  so  simply,  truthfully 
fascinating,  amidst  the  deepening  interest  of  her  advanc- 
ing years.  A  sketch  like  this  impresses  us  profoundly 
with  the  unsatisfactoriness  of  those  second-hand  details 
from  which  the  essence  of  biography — the  interior  life  of 
its  subject,  has  escaped.  Each  human  heart,  could  its 
deepest  workings  be  unvailed,  is  a  microcosm  which  en- 
compasses the  whole  essential  life  of  humanity.  The 
sketch  does  its  own  philosophizing,  yet  we  may  spend  a 
moment  in  gathering  up  its  impressions.  We  detect 
here  already  the  germs  of  Emily's  matured  character, 
and  we  see  under  what  influences  it  took  its  form  and 
pressure.  She  was  the  child  of  adversity.  Kind,  affec- 
tionate, intelligent,  watchfully  solicitous  for  the  welfare 
of  their  children,  her  parents  were  not  able  to  shield 
them  from  the  ills  of  poverty.  The  light  that  surrounded 
them  was  literally  "  all  from  within,"  for  little  of  ex- 
ternal sunshine  fell  upon  their  pathway.     Emilv  can 


34  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

scarcely  be  said  to  have  had  a  childhood — an  experience 
of  that  happy  season,  exempt  from  forecasting  thought 
and  care,  which,  bird-like,  carols  away  the  passing  hour, 
before  the  "  shades  of  the  prison-house  begin  to  close" 
upon  the  maturing  spirit.  Life  early  shut  in  upon  her 
sternly,  darkly,  inexorably  real.  The  brief  inquiry  in  one 
of  her  letters,  "  How  did  I  live  ?"  has  a  depth  of  mean- 
ing which  the  above  little  sketch  abundantly  illustrates. 
Yet,  if  she  knew  the  bitterness  of  poverty,  she  was  no 
stranger,  in  her  early  home,  to  the  richer  wealth  of  the 
intellect  and  the  heart.  The  domestic  affections  and  the 
domestic  virtues — grace,  sweetness,  intelligence,  piety, 
culture — clustered  around  that  lowly  fireside,  and  lent  it 
attractions  such  as  mere  wealth  could  not  shed  over  a 
palace.  And  amidst  the  hardships  of  her  lot,  we  find  in 
the  youthful  Emily  essentially  the  same  traits  that 
marked  her  maturer  years — thoughtfulness  for  those 
about  her,  an  unselfish,  almost  prodigal  generosity,  and 
a  shrinking  sensitiveness  united  with  a  self-reliant  will, 
and  an  almost  masculine  energy  of  action.  Her  expend- 
ing all  her  slowly  treasured  earnings  in  giving  a  drive 
to  her  invalid  sister  but  anticipates  the  devotion  which 
led  her,  in  advance  of  the  calculations  of  prudence,  to 
provide  for  another  sister's  education,  and  to  purchase 
a  home  for  her  parents  ;  and  the  spirit  with  which,  when 
not  yet  fifteen,  she  planned  and  executed  her  purpose  of 
obtaining  a  school,  shows  the  romance  of  her  character 
already  deeply  impregnated  with  that  "sterner  stuff" 
which  fitted  her  for  the  high  resolves  and  the  patient 
sufferings  of  her  later  destiny.  Already  is  foreshadowed 
the  character  in  which  genius  and  good  sense,  the  imag- 
inative and  the  practical  elements,  were  so  harmoniously 
blended. 


THE    NEW    LIFE.  35 

And  finally,  her  sketch  shows  us  how  scanty  were 
her  opportunities  of  education  ;  against  how  adverse 
influences  she  struggled  up  to  literary  eminence.  Few 
indeed  of  our  successful  literary  aspirants  have  been  so 
little  indebted,  to  the  moulding  hand  of  culture.  She 
snatched  its  elements  from  chance  acquaintances  ;  from 
very  imperfect  schools  ;  from  the  scanty  remains  of  a 
day  spent  in  exhausting  labor.  But  her  perceptions 
were  quick,  her  powers  of  acquisition  rapid,  and  her 
tastes  instinctively  delicate.  A  fuller  education  would 
have  increased  the  range  and  depth  of  her  mental  action, 
but  it  may  be  almost  doubted  whether  it  would  have 
improved  its  quality.  Her  mind  was  of  that  ethereal 
element,  that  delicacy  of  organization,  that  scarcely 
needed  the  refinement  of  culture.  This  might  have 
given  depth  and  body,  but  could  scarcely  have  added 
grace  and  beauty  to  her  mental  movements. 

Mrs.  Judson's  sketch  terminates  with  her  fifteenth 
year.  The  course  which  the  little  girl  had  marked  out 
for  herself  she  prosecuted  with  energy.  In  the  summer 
of  1833  she  opened  a  school  in  her  native  village,  Morris- 
ville,  which  she  continued  until  autumn.  The  following 
winter  she  spent  at  home,  and  in  April,  1834,  she  com- 
menced teaching  in  Smithfield,  a  town  lying  immediately 
north  of  Morrisville.  Her  school  continued  until  Sep- 
tember. This  summer  constituted  an  eventful  epoch  in 
her  life. 

The  religious  impressions  which,  as  related  in  her 
sketch,  she  had  so  long  and  deeply  cherished,  but  which 
had  been  partially  efikced,  were  revived  and  deepened, 
resulting  in  a  joyful  religious  hope,  and  a  purpose  to 
consecrate  her  life  to  the  service  of  her  Kedeemer. 
Whether  she  dated  her  religious  life  from  this  period, 


36  LIFE    OF   MRS.   EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

or  regarded  her  present  experience  as  but  tlie  upspring- 
ing  of  a  germ  of  faith  previously  implanted,  is  not  en- 
tirely clear,  nor  perhaps  material.  In  a  little  collection 
of  memoranda,  she  refers  the  origin  of  her  hope  in  Christ 
to  the  year  1825,  when  she  was  but  eight  years  old,  and 
I  think  that  in  later  life  she  inclined  to  regard  herself  as 
thus  early  the  subject  of  a  spiritual  renewal.  This,  how- 
ever, does  not  appear  in  her  sketch,  nor  is  it  intimated  in 
a  letter  at  this  time  stating  her  religious  change.  But 
her  education  had  been  thoroughly  Christian  ;  pious 
parents  and  sisters  had  watched  over  her  youthful  devel- 
opment ;  her  religious  sensibilities  had  ever  been  tender, 
and  it  must  not  surprise  us,  therefore,  that  it  should  be 
diifficult  to  distinguish  the  precise  period  at  which  the 
latent  seed  was  quickened  into  spiritual  life.  At  all 
events,  she  now  first  ventured  on  a  religious  profession, 
and  a  letter  dated  May  2,  1834,  announces,  with  all  the 
glowing  zeal  of  a  convert,  her  new-found  joy,  and  her 
purpose  of  holy  living.  The  letter,  addressed  to  an 
intimate  friend,  Miss  M.  L.  Dawson,  is  written  in  a 
cramped  and  immature  hand,  and  does  not  rise  above 
the  common-places  of  religious  diction,  but  its  glow  of 
pious  feeling  and  earnestness  of  spirit  are  unmistakeable. 

Perhaps  you  have  heard,  she  writes,  that  I  have  learned,  as 
I  trust,  to  love  my  God.  O  would  that  I  could  have  your 
compauy!  Would  that  you,  too,  could  know  the  peace  there 
is  in  believing !  Would  that  you  would  engage  in  this  glori- 
ous cause  in  which  my  every  feeling  is  enlisted,  and  for  the 
promotion  of  which  my  every  future  effort,  I  hope,  will  be 
made.  I  have  loved  you,  Maria,  as  I  never  loved  another 
human  being  who  was  not  bound  to  me  by  the  ties  of  relation- 
ship, and  I  shall  never  cease  to  love  you  till  "  the  silver  cord 
be  loosed,  and  the  golden  bowl  broken."     But  the  purpose  of 


THE   NEW   LIFE.  37 

my  life  is  changed.     Hitherto  I  have  lived  for  myself,  and  now 
I  mean  to  live  for  God. 

Then,  in  a  strain  of  passionate  earnestness,  she  ex- 
horts her  youthful  companion  to  forsake  the  path  of  sin, 
and  become  her  partner  in  the  joys  of  the  Christian  life. 

In  July  following  she  was  baptized  by  the  Eev. 
William  Dean,  himself  a  native  of  Morrisville,  and 
then  under  appointment  as  missionary  to  China,  and 
became  a  member  of  the  Baptist  church  in  Morrisville. 
The  following  extract  of  a  letter  from  Dr.  Dean  gives  an 
account  of  her  baptism,  and  some  brief  earlier  reminis- 
cences. 

You  are  quite  welcome  to  my  memories  of  Emily  Chuhbuck, 
so  far  as  I  am  able  to  record  them.  Soon  after  I  rose  to  the 
dignity  of  school-teaching,  and  "boarded  round,"  I  was  em- 
ployed in  her  father's  district  for  the  winter  of  1827,  and  was 
often  in  her  father's  family,  and  saw  much  of  the  timid  little 
pale-faced  Emily,  both  in  the  family  and  in  the  school-room. 
She  ever  appeared  dutiful  to  her  parents,  cheerful  in  her  home 
duties,  and  diligent  and  successful  in  getting  her  lessons.  I 
recollect  to  have  been  especially  interested  in  finding  one  of 
her  slender  frame  and  sensitive  temperament  so  successful  in 
arithmetic.  Accuracy  characterized  all  her  lessons,  and  pro- 
priety all  her  deportment. 

In  the  spring  of  1834,  before  leaving  the  country,  I  had  oc- 
casion to  baptize  some  dozen  or  fifteen  young  persons  in  my 
native  town,  and  Emily  Chubbuck  was  among  the  number.  In 
conversation,  during  her  serious  impressions,  she  was  not  com- 
municative, but  in  answer  to  questions  gave  clear  views  of  sin, 
and  her  sole  trust  in  the  atoning  sacrifice  of  Christ  for  salvation. 
In  relating  her  Christian  experience  before  the  church,  she  dis- 
covered her  accustomed  coy  manner,  but  gave  satisfactory  proof 
that  she  had  been  renewcid  by  the  spirit  of  God. 


38  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

Not  long  before  this  event  she  had  witnessed  the  death-bed 
triumphs  of  an  elder  sister,  who  had  in  her  person  presented 
a  lovely  example  of  piety.  This  sister  had  cherished  a  warm 
sympathy  for  a  suffering  world,  and  expressed  a  desire  to  go  in 
person  to  teach  the  heathen. 

A  new  and  nobler  element  was  now  wrought  into 
Emily's  character.  A  principle  was  implanted  in  the 
depths  of  her  nature,  which,  though  unobtrusive,  shrink- 
ing, sometimes  almost  disowning  itself,  yet  never  lost  its 
power  over  her,  nor  ceased  to  act  as  a  controlling  element 
in  her  subsequent  career.  Her  religious  character  was 
indeed  slow  in  maturing,  and  its  development  was  re- 
tarded, perhaps,  by  her  peculiarities  of  temperament  and 
constitution.  Thoroughly  sincere  in  her  religious  pro- 
fession— as  in  all  her  professions — she  shrunk  with  almost 
morbid  aversion  from  any  parading  of  her  feelings,  and 
chose  rather  to  bury  her  convictions  in  the  depths  of 
her  own  bosom,  than  to  hold  out  any  appearances  of 
piety  which  were  not  sustained  by  her  conscious  ex- 
perience. Her  progress  in  piety  was  also  checked  by 
some  peculiar  internal  struggles.  From  the  first  an  in- 
explicable conviction  dwelt  upon  her  mind,  that  she 
was  destined  to  a  missionary  life.  "  I  have  felt,"  she 
said,  in  conversation  with  an  intimate  pious  friend,  in 
1838,  "  ever  since  I  read  the  memoir  of  Mrs.  Ann  H. 
Judson  when  I  was  a  small  child,  that  I  E^ust  become  a 
missionary.  I  fear  it  is  but  a  childish  fancy,  and  am 
making  every  effort  to  banish  it  from  my  mind  ;  yet  the 
more  I  seek  to  divert  my  thoughts  from  it,  the  more  un- 
happy I  am.''  She  never,  she  said  at  another  time, 
heard  a  sermon  preached,  or  opened  her  Bible  to  read, 
without  feeling  condemned,  conscious  that  her  Saviour's 
requirements  were  in  direct  antagonism  to  her  cherished 


THE   NEW   LIFE.  39 

purposes — not  so  much  of  personal  ease  or  ambition,  as 
of  ministering  to  the  comfort  of  her  parents,  and  secur- 
ing an  education  to  her  younger  brother  and  sister. 
Thus  her  bosom  was  the  seat  of  a  constant  struggle — 
the  heavenly  and  the  earthly  duty  coming  into  seem- 
ing collision — while  her  will  and  purposes  were  con- 
sciously not  disciplined  into  harmony  with  her  heavenly 
calling. 

From  causes  like  these,  she  declined  from  the  fervor 
of  her  first  love  and  the  entireness  of  her  early  con- 
secration, and  lived  for  a  time  without  the  deep  spir- 
itual communion  and  the  inspiring  hopes  which  are 
the  privilege  of  the  believer.  Yet,  if  she  shrunk  timidly 
from  the  utterance  of  Christian  emotion,  if  her  joys 
were  low,  and  her  heavenward  aspirations  less  intense, 
her  life,  in  its  larger  compass  and  higher  aims,  rested 
on  a  firm  foundation  of  religious  principle.  Her  chosen 
home  was  with  the  people  of  God  ;  her  daily  walk  was 
consistent  and  unimpeachable ;  her  occasional  literary 
effusions,  and  her  first  formal  efforts  in  authorship, 
drew  their  chief  inspiration  from  the  Bible.  Even  her 
"Fanny  Forester"  sketches  stood  broadly  distinguished, 
by  their  pure  and  exalted  moral  tone,  from  much  of  the 
lighter  literature  with  which  they  were  accidentally 
associated ;  and  when,  at  length,  "  the  hour  and  the 
man"  appeared  that  drew  her  forth  to  the  realization  of 
her  early  missionary  yearnings,  the  readiness  with  which 
her  spirit  expanded  to  the  sublime  enterprise,  the  en- 
thusiasm with  which  she  entered  into  that  great  work  of 
redeeming  the  nations,  which  had  absorbed  her  husband's 
energies,  prove  how  deep  had  been  the  work  of  moral 
preparation. 


CHAPTER  lY. 

THE    SCHOOL-TEACHEK. 

"I  have  made  a  changeful  journey 

Up  the  hill  of  life  since  morn  ; 
I  have  gathered  flowers  and  blossoms, 

I've  been  pierced  by  many  a  thorn. 
But  from  out  the  core  of  soitow 

I  have  plucked  a  jewel  rare  ; 
The  strength  which  mortals  gather 

In  their  ceaseless  strife  with  care." 

Emily  was  now  fairly  inducted  into  the  mysteries  of 
the  "birch."  The  beauties  of  "boarding  round,"  of 
training  regiments  of  literary  aspirants,  of  all  possible 
youthful  sizes  and  ages,  in  the  small,  ill-constructed, 
ill- warmed,  ill-ventilated  school-houses  of  our  rural  and 
sparsely  populated  districts,  I  leave  to  the  knowledge 
and  fancy  of  my  readers.  But  she  pursued  her  employ- 
ment "  with  a  will,"  and  consequently  with  success. 

She  closed  her  school  in  Smithfield  in  September. 
Allowing  herself  but  a  slight  respite,  she  went  in 
November  to  Nelson  (the  scene  of  her  debut  as  a 
teacher)  to  instruct  in  a  private  family.  But  the 
severity  of  the  winter,  and  the  feebleness  of  her  health, 
compelled  her  to  cut  short  her  engagement,  and  she 
returned  home  in  February.  She  continued  ill  during 
the  summer,  and  though  her  pen  was  not  idle,  she  was 
unequal  to  any  steady  employment.     In  January  her 


THE   SCHOOL-TEACHER.  41 

health  had  improved,  and  she  entered  again  the  academy 
at  Morris ville.  After  remaining  one  quarter  as  a  pupil, 
she  was  transferred  to  the  post  of  teacher,  which  she 
occupied  until  April  of  the  year  following.  The  in- 
tegrity of  the  family  was  now  broken  in  upon  by  the 
removal  of  her  brother  Walker  to  Milwaukee,  in  Wis- 
consin, where  he  still  resides,  editing  a  paper,  and  a 
respected  member  of  the  Presbyterian  church.  His 
conversion  stood' connected,  I  think,  with  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  him  by  Dr.  Judson  a  short  time  before 
Emily's  marriage.  This  year  also  witnessed  the  mar- 
riage of  her  brother  Benjamin. 

During  the  summer  of  1837,  Emily  had  charge  of  a 
school  in  Brookfield,  where  she  presided  over  about  an 
hundred  pupils.  Eepairing  thence  almost  immediately 
to  Syracuse,  she  taught  in  this  place  until  the  fol- 
lowing April.  There  seems  to  have  been  need  of 
her  utmost  exertions.  "  Many  family  troubles  during 
this  winter" — thus  runs  her  brief  record — "failure  in 
stage-coach  business  ;  the  family  removed  to  Hamil- 
ton, but  returned  in  the  spring  ;  home  lost ;  horses, 
coaches,  etc.,  seized  and  sold  at  auction."  Such  em- 
ergencies proved  the  genuine  gold  in  Emily's  charac- 
ter. When  all  seemed  crashing  round  her,  she  stood 
and  struggled  with  unabated  courage,  cheered  the  de- 
sponding spirits  of  her  parents,  aided  with  hand  and 
counsel  at  home  when  aid  was  possible,  and  by  her 
constant  labors  in  school-teaching  did  all  in  her  power 
to  relieve  the  heavy  burdens  of  the  family.  Her  self- 
sacrificing  generosity  overlooked  entirely  her  individual 
comfort.  Her  unrelaxed  effort  was  expended  upon  those 
to  whom  she  owed  her  hfe,  and  whose  failing  health  and 
partially  broken  spirit  caused  them  to  lean  largely  upon 


42  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

her.    Meantime  her  acknowledged  ability  as  a  teacher  was 
securing  an  increased  demand  for  her  services. 

On  closing  her  school  in  Syracuse,  Emily  went  almost 
immediately  to  take  charge  of  the  public  school  in  Ham- 
ilton. She,  as  usual,  divided  her  time  between  teaching, 
studying,  and  writing.  Her  active  temperament  scarcely 
allowed  her  a  moment's  rest  from  some  form  of  literary 
labor.  Her  evenings  she  now  devoted  to  the  study  of 
Greek  under  the  tuition  of  a  student  in  the  Theological 
Seminary,  and  her  occasional  hours  were  occupied  in  some 
little  graceful  effusions  in  prose  and  verse,  which  adorned 
the  columns  of  the  village  journal.  She  was  now  about 
twenty- one,  and  though  ill  health  and  care,  and  the  irk- 
some labor  of  teaching  the  rudiments  of  knowledge  to 
children,  stood  much  in  the  way  of  her  literary  develop- 
ment, still  she  scattered  about  many  gems  of  beautiful 
thought,  though  without  having  more  than  the  faintest 
conception  of  the  depth  and  the  richness  of  the  mine 
whence  they  were  drawn.  From  a  series  of  contribu- 
tions to  the  Hamilton  village  paper  I  select  the  follow- 
ing: 

The  midnight  air  is  filled 
With  rich-toned  music,  and  its  deep  wild  gush 
Sweeps  strongly  forth,  and  bids  the  earth  to  hush 
Its  din — and  it  is  stilled. 

Then  with  low  whispering  tone, 
Like  the  last  sigh  of  a  departed  one 
That,  all  unmurmuring  that  his  task  is  done, 

Breathes  out  his  life  alone. 

The  soft  sound  floats  alono- ; 
Or  like  a  harp  with  one  unbroken  string. 
Which  still  its  plaintive  notes  around  may  fling, 

Breathes  forth  this  spirit  song. 


THE   SCHOOL-TEACHER.  43 

Now  fainter  tlian  the  sigh 
Of  the  last  faded  rose-leaf  when  it  falls, 
As  its  departed  sister  softly  calls, 

The  low  sweet  strains  mov5  by. 

And  then  again  they  burst 
In  rich,  deep  strains  of  melody  untaught, 
Stirring  the  spirit's  depths,  and  kindhng  thought 

Pure  as  in  Eden  erst. 

I  may  not  read  the  spell 
Flung  on  my  soul,  but  I  may  feel  its  power. 
And  twine  bright  thoughts  around  this  hallowed  hour, 

On  which  alone  to  dwell. 

During  Emily's  residence  at  Hamilton,  I  believe,  cer- 
tainly during  this  year,  her  missionary  impulses  gained 
such  strength  that  she  addressed  a  letter  to  Kev.  Nathan- 
iel Kendrick,  Pastor  of  the  Baptist  Church  in  Eaton 
(and  theological  professor  in  the  institution  at  Hamilton), 
on  the  subject  of  devoting  herself  to  a  missionary  life. 
The  letter  is  unfortunately  lost,  and  we  are  deprived 
of  its  aid  in  estimating  her  religious  life  at  this  time. 
But  the  fact  that  though  bound  by  so  strong  attach- 
ments to  her  home,  she  should  have  cherished  this 
desire  strongly  enoufti  to  make  it  the  subject  of  a 
formal  communication,  shows  that  her  childish  dream 
was  passing  into  a  sober  reality,  and  that  she  had  not 
proved  faithless  to  her  early  vow  of  consecration.  Dr. 
Kendrick  sympathizing  entirely  in  her  missionary  zeal, 
yet  advised  her  to  await  the  openings  of  Providence. 
He,  no  doubt,  saw  objections  to  sending  forth  a  girl 
so  young  and  delicate  into  the  rude  struggles  and  pri- 
vations of   a  missionary's  life.     Doubtless  he  judged 


44  LIFE   OF  MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

wisely  ;  yet  little  did  he  or  any  one  dream  what  "  stuff 
for  a  heroine  "  tempered  that  fragile  organism. 

Her  visit  home  was  saddened  by  j^ainful  remembrances 
— remembrances  of  the  early  dead — of  the  recently  re- 
moved. "  How  can  I  write/'  she  says^  as  she  sits  down 
on  Saturday  evening  to  her  solitary  self-communings, 
"  when  those  voices  which  have  a  kind  of  magic  in  them 
strike  on  my  ear,  while  all  the  visions  of  other  days 
dance  before  my  eyes  ?  And  then  come  thoughts  of  the 
absent.  My  brother,  my  own  dear  brother,  why  art 
thou  away  ?     Come  back  and  we  will  again  be  happy." 

"  And  I  again  am  home  " — she  continues,  as  the  gush- 
ing tenderness  of  her  spirit  melts  her  prose  into  verse 
which  gives  an  inkling  of  her  heart  history,  and  opens 
glimpses  of  the  depths  from  which,  under  the  inspira- 
tion of  sanctified  sorrow,  welled  up  in  later  times  strains 
of  such  soul-subduing  pathos  as  "  Sweet  Mother"  and 
"Angel  Charlie."  We,  of  course,  claim  for  this  piece 
no  sucJi  poetical  merit : — 

STANZAS. 

August  7,  1838. 

And  I  again  am  home ; — again  I  hear 

The  thrilling  tone  of  voices  early  loved ; 
And  all  I  love  on  earth,  but  he,  are  near. 

All  whom  I  have  so  long  and  deeply  proved  : 
But  he  is  absent — ah !  that  he  should  roam ; 
It  must  not,  must  not  be — Brother,  come  home. 

Come  to  the  hearts  that  love  thee — come  and  bless 

The  fleeting  moments  of  a  mother''s  life ; 
To  her  fond  love  what  is  the  world's  caress  ? 

What  its  ambitious  hopes  ?  its  maddening  strife  ? 
What  seek'st  thou  there  that  thou  alone  shouldst  roam 
From  those  that  love  thee  ?     Brother,  come,  come  home. 


THE   SCHOOL-TEACHER.  45 

Come,  for  tliy  sire  awaits  thee — though  he's  shrunk 

From  the  proud  world  since  Heaven  has  bowed  his  head, 

Of  sorrow's  bitter  cup  has  deeply  drunk, 
And  looks  upon  this  life  with  almost  dread, 

Yet  even  there,  brother,  thou  art  not  forgot ; 

Though  hope^  though  peace  be  gone,  yet  love  is  not. 

Come  to  a  sister'' s  arms — thou'rt  almost  all 
Her  heart  may  cling  to  in  this  sunless  day ; 

O  let  thy  hand  remove  this  fearful  pall, 

Which  wraps  her  heart  while  thou  dost  thus  delay. 

O  gaze  no  longer  on  Fame's  rainbow  dome ; 

Cheat  not  thyself  with  meteors — come,  come  home. 

We've  naught  but  hearts  to  offer — but  there's  there 
A  depth  of  richness  thou  hast  long  since  proved ; 

Our  web  of  life  is  darkly  dyed  with  care ; 

But  shrink  thou  not,  thou'rt  e'en  more  deeply  loved 

Than  when  the  stream  of  life  unruffled  flowed, 

And  hope  our  pathway  with  bright  visions  strewed. 

Then  come  to  us,  'tis  but  a  little  hour 

That  we  may  spend  in  this  dark  world  of  woe ; 

Let  us  together  cling — a  sister's  dower 

Is  but  her  brother's  heart — and  thine,  we  know. 

Is  all  our  own — then  why,  why  dost  thou  roam  ? 

We  wait  thee,  deeming  thou  wilt  soon  come  home. 

During  all  these  years  nothing  could  repress  the 
buoyant  activity  of  Emily's  intellect,  nor  keep  her  from 
constant  exercises  in  composition.  To  write  was  a  neces- 
sity of  her  nature,  and  she  lavished  her  effusions  upon 
the  village  journals  and  upon  her  port-folio  with  a  prodi- 
gality which  might  well  justify  high  anticipations  of  her 


46  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

future  ;  and  this  especially  as  tliese  eifusions  were  not 
the  products  of  school  training,  but  the  spontaneous 
outgushings  which  the  want  of  such  a  training  could  not 
repress.  Their  defects  sprung  from  the  necessary  super- 
ficialness  of  youth,  from  the  fact  that  time  and  experi- 
ence had  not  yet  developed  the  deeper  elements  of  her 
character. 

On  leaving  Hamilton,  she  opened  a  school  in  the 
academy  building  at  Morrisville,  to  which  her  reputa- 
tion attracted  many  pupils.  While  teaching,  she  still 
strove  to  supply  the  deficiencies  of  her  education,  and 
now  took  private  lessons  in  mathematics  with  Kev.  Mr^ 
Keed,  for  a  short  time  resident  in  Morrisville.  With  one 
of  his  sisters  she  formed  a  very  close  intimacy  ;  and  sev- 
eral letters  to  Miss  Reed,  while  not  otherwise  remarkable, 
display  an  intensity  of  affection  such  as  belongs  not  to  an 
ordinary  character.  Her  timid,  and  even  cold  exterior, 
vailed  a  keen  sensibility,  and  a  passionate,  almost  morbid 
craving  for  sympathy  and  love.  The  tendency  to  bury 
her  whole  nature  in  a  single  absorbing  friendship,  of 
course  diminished  with  her  maturing  character  and  ex- 
perience ;  but  though  taking  a  more  subdued  form,  her 
attachments  were  always  ardent  and  engrossing. 

In  March  of  1839  the  troubles  of  the  family  reached 
their  crisis.  To  crown  all,  her  mother  fell  dangerously 
ill  of  a  brain  fever,  followed  by  inflammation  of  the 
lungs.  Emily  was  compelled  to  close  her  school  for  a 
few  weeks,  and  her  own  health  w^as  so  sadly  shattered 
that  she  was  scarcely  adequate  to  its  duties.  But  tem- 
poral afflictions  were  compensated  by  spiritual  mercies. 
Her  only  remaining  sister,  Catharine,  was  baptized  into 
the  fellowship  of  the  Morrisville  church,  thus  making  two 
sisters  rejoicing  with  the  church  triumphant,  and  two 


THE    SCHOOL-TEACHER.  47 

still  struggling  in  Christian  hope  with  the  burden  of  the 
flesh. 

She  now  renewed  her  long  slumbering  correspondence 
with  her  early  friend  Miss  Dawson.  Her  letters  to  her 
(afterward  Mrs.  Bates)  are  marked  less  by  intensity 
of  passion,  by  the  surrender  of  the  whole  soul  to  an 
engrossing  attachment,  than  her  earlier  ones;  and,  on 
the  other  hand,  are  tinged  with  a  slightly  sentimental- 
izing tendency,  of  which  nearly  every  vestige  was  swept 
from  her  later  correspondence.  She  was  in  a  tran- 
sition period.  Childhood  was  passed  ;  the  woman  was 
not  yet  developed.  The  following,  from  her  reply  to 
Miss  Dawson,  shows  her  estimate  of  the  discipline  she 
was  undergoing,  and  of  the  sterner  elements  which  had 
been  wrought  into  her  character.  Doubtless  her  mental 
analysis  partially  missed  its  mark.  There  was  more  of 
"  the  poetry  of  life"  about  her  now  than  formerly,  though 
for  the  moment  latent.  The  exquisite  nonsense  of  the 
poet,  that 

Heaven  lies  about  us  in  our  infaucy, 

was  no  more  true  of  her  than  of  others.  A  rich,  warm, 
golden  nature — tender,  energetic,  passionate,  romantic — 
full  of  the  susceptibilities  of  love  and  the  capacities  of 
heroism,  was  gathering  its  unconscious  elements  within 
her.  But  hers  was  still  the  chrysalis  state,  and  the 
winged  being  of  light  and  beauty  had  not  fully  emerged. 
We  need,  however,  make  but  slight  allowance,  either  in 
her  poetry  or  prose,  for  that  affectation  of  sorrow,  that 
merely  sentimentalizing  grief,  in  which  youthful  poets 
and  letter- writers  are  so  liable  to  indulge.  She  had  little 
occasion  to  frame  visions  of  imaginary  suffering.  Life 
had  been  with  her  too  intensely  real — care,  often  deepen- 


48  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

ing  into  sorrow,  too  close  a  companion,  to  leave  much 
leisure  or  occasion  for  the  luxury  of  fictitious  woe. 

TO    MISS     M.    L.    DAWSON. 

MoERisviLLE,  September  5tli,  1839. 

My  Dear  Maria, — 

I  am  alone  to-day — all,  all  alone,  for  the  first  hour  since  1 
received  your  dear,  kind  letter;  so  I  hasten  to  improve  the  pre- 
cious moment.  I  am  exceedingly  happy  just  now.  Maria  has  not 
forgotten  me.  "VVe  are  friends  again — old,  tried  friends ;  we  will 
meet  and  kiss,  and  the  past  with  its  years  of  alienation  shall  be 
buried  in  oblivion. 

Maria,  I  will  tell  you  the  truth ;  Emily  is  changed.  You 
would  not  recognize,  I  presume,  either  her  face  or  her  charac- 
ter. But  her  heart  remains  the  same.  Years  could  not 
change  that,  save,  perhaps,  to  call  up  some  deeper  feeling, 
to  unseal  some  hitherto  undiscovered  fountain.  I  have  said 
that  I  am  changed.  You  could  hardly  suppose  that  years 
would  make  no  alteration,  and  I  think  that  I  should  even  look 
for  some  changes  in  your  own  dear  self.  I  am  not  diffident  and 
shrinking  as  I  used  to  be,  but  perhaps  approaching  too  much 
the  other  extreme.  The  world  has  given  me  some  heavy 
brushes ;  disappointment  has  cast  a  shadow  over  my  path  ;  ex- 
pectation has  been  often  marred  and  hope  withered  ;  the  trials 
of  life  have  distilled  their  bitterness ;  care  spread  out  its  per- 
plexities; and  all  this  has  served  to  nerve  up  my  spirits  to 
greater  strength,  and  add  iron  to  my  nature.  There  is  but 
little  of  the  poetry  of  life  about  me  now ;  little  of  the  bright, 
rich  coloring  of  a  warm  imagination.  In  short,  I  am  a  plain 
matter  of  fact  little  body,  somewhat  stern  and  "  quite  too  posi- 
tive for  a  maiden,"  as  the  quaker  said.  The  neighborhood  calls 
me  proud ;  my  mother,  rough  ;  my  sister,  coarse ;  my  brother, 
old  maidish,  and  my  dear  good  father,  rather  too  decided  for  a 
girl.  I  have  said  this  much  of  myself  that  you  may  know  what 
it  means,  and  that  it  is  really  I  that  write,  should  you  happen  to 


THE   SCHOOL-TEACHER.  49 

find  sometliing  in  my  letters  that  does  not  fully  coincide  with 
your  former  ideas  of  Emily.  What  an  egotist  I  am  !  But  then 
I  have  nothing  else  to  talk  about ;  you,  of  course,  do  not  care 
to  hear  the  news.         ....... 

In  October  declining  health  compelled  her  to  close  her 
school.  In  a  congratulatory  letter  to  Miss  Dawson  (Mrs. 
Bates)  on  her  marriage,  she  writes  thus  : — 

Although,  I  believe,  somewhat  my  junior,  Maria,  yet  your 
heart  is  older,  and  has  learned  a  lesson  in  which  mine  can  not 
sympathize ;  yet  be  assured  I  shall  ever  be  interested  in  your 
welfare,  and  should  the  "  dark  hour  "  ever  come,  in  Emily  you 
will  find  a  faithful  friend,  and,  Maria,  then  she  will  know 
how  to  sympathize.  She  is  well  instructed  in  the  lore  of  care 
and  trouble,  for  the  hand  of  the  world  has  touched  not  lightly. 
Sometimes  in  the  hour  of  trouble  and  anxiety,  when  obliged 
to  wear  a  smile  to  cheer  my  mother  and  sister,  I  have  longed  for 
some  loved  bosom  on  which  to  rest  my  aching  head,  and  pour 
out  the  pent  up  anguish  of  my  heart.         .... 

Talking  of  "rhyme,"  I  will  give  you  a  little,  if  you  will  excuse 
the  "  reason."     I  profess  no  proficiency  in  that : 

TO    MARIA    ON   HER    MARRIAGE. 

'Tis  past,  that  thoughtlessness  of  care — 
Bright  girlhood's  gift  is  thine  no  more ; 

And  though  a  smile  thy  lips  yet  wear, 
It  seems  not  gladsome,  as  of  yore. 

Thou  may'st  not  be  a  girl  again. 

That  fascinating,  foolish  thing  ; 
Restless  and  joyous,  light  and  vain, 

Free  as  the  wild  bird  on  the  wing. 

Thine  is  a  new  and  holy  tie. 

Bound  with  a  sacred,  solemn  trust, 
3 


50  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

To  live,  and  live  all  lovingly  ; 

To  die,  and  mingle  dust  with  dust. 

Yet  say  not,  dearest,  we  must  part ; 

For,  while  new  ties  with  old  ones  blend, 
Though  other  loved  ones  claim  thy  heart, 

Thou'it  not  forget  thine  early  friend. 

.  .  .  Come  and  visit  me,  Maria,  come.  I  have  four  rose- 
buds, and  you  must  see  them  ere  they  blossom ;  for  they  are 
like  your  own  hopes  in  this  wilderness  of  life,  flinging  a  glad 
promise  over  the  darkness  of  the  coming  winter. 

In  January,  Emily  again  took  charge  of  a  school  in 
Prattsville.  This  seems  to  have  been  a  place  to  her  of 
some  literary  significance.  In  its  factory  "  Grace  Lin- 
den'' was  probably  born  ;  its  school-house,  if  we  may 
judge  from  the  following  fragment  of  a  letter  to  Mrs. 
Bates,  gave  birth  to  "  Lilias  Fane"  : — 

The  evening  I  saw  you  at  C ,  safely  landed  us  at  Morris- 

ville,  at  a  not  very  late  hour.  The  next  day  I  received  an 
invitation  to  take  a  school  in  Pratt's  Hollow,  and  accepted  it 
without  hesitation.  Behold  me  then  the  Monday  morning 
after,  at  the  head  of  a  little  regiment  of  wild  cats.  Oh,  don't 
mention  it,  don't.  I  am  as  sick  of  my  bargain  as — (pardon  the 
comparison,  but  it  will  out) — any  Benedict  in  Christendom. 
I  am  duly  constituted  sovereign  of  a  company  of  fifty  wild 
horses  "which  may  not  be  tamed."  Oh,  Maria,  Maria,  pity 
me.  But  the  half  has  not  yet  be'en  told  you.  Immediately 
after  coming  here,  I  caught  a  severe  cold,  and  have  ever  since 
been  afflicted  with  something  like  inflammation  in  the  eyes,  so 
that  I  have  been  obliged  to  keep  them  bandaged,  save  in 
school  hours.  This  evening  is  the  first  time  I  have  ventured 
to  take  the  bandage  off,  and  I  may  rue  it.  My  school  is  al- 
most ungovernable.    They  have  dismissed  their  former  teacher — 


THE   SCHOOL-TEACHER.  51 

an  experienced  one — a  married  man,  and  it  seems  a  hopeless 
task  to  attempt  a  reformation  among  them.  I  receive  three 
dollars  per  week,  and  board. 

As  might  be  expected  from  the  above,  her  winter 
labors  proved  again  too  severe  for  her,  and  she  closed 
her  school  in  March  in  a  miserable  state  of  health, 
from  which  she  did  not  rally  through  the  summer.  In 
September,  however,  she  contemplated  returning  to  her 
destiny.  Cazenovia,  Syracuse,  and  other  places  were 
under  deliberation ;  meanwhile  in  a  letter  to  her  friend 
she  thus  unbosoms  herself : — 

O  this  is  a  sad  worH,  where  we  must  hope  and  weep,  then  hope 
again,  and  find  even  that  in  vain.  I  have  spent  the  day  alone,  and 
I  have  almost  felt  as  though  I  was  alone  in  the  world.  And  now, 
Maria  dear,  my  heart  as  it  is.  I  love  my  friends,  and  am  gratefal 
to  them  for  regarding  me ;  but  I  would  have  them  altogether  mine. 
O  there  is  a  fearful  sense  of  loneliness  comes  over  me  when  I  think 
that  none  among  my  numerous  friends  love  me  as  I  would  be 
loved ;  that  I  love  no  one  with  all  the  strength  and  capability 
of  my  nature.  I  would  lay  down  my  heart  at  a  mortal  shrine, 
and  be,  next  to  God,  the  supreme  object  of  affection.     .     ,     . 

Wednesday,  September  9,  P.  M.  I  have  been  making  em- 
broidered butterflies  and  needle-books  until  I  begin  to  think  it 
small  business  for  such  a  "big  girl;"  so  I  have  taken  my  pen  to 
tell  you  how  much  happier  I  am  to-day  than  I  was  yesterday — 
happier,  because  I  will  be. 

Happy,  happy !     Earth  is  gay ; 
Life  is  but  a  sunny  day. 
Lightly,  lightly  flit  along. 
Child  of  sunshine  and  of  song ; 
Happy,  happy,  earth  is  gay, 
Life  is  but  a  sunny  day. 


52  LIFE  OF  MBS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

If  perchance  a  cloud  arise, 
Darkly  shadowing  o'er  thy  skies, 
Heed  it  not  'twill  soon  depart ; 
Bar  all  sadness  from  thy  heart. 
Happy,  happy,  earth  is  gay. 
Life  is  but  a  sunny  day. 

Drink  the  cup  and  wear  the  chain. 
But  let  them  weave  th'eir  spell  in  vain ; 
Lightly,  lightly  let  them  press 
On  thy  heart  of  happiness. 
Happy,  happy,  earth  is  gay, 
Life  is  but  a  sunny  day. 


CHAPTER    V. 

"AUTHOE-LAND." 

"  Thine  every  fancy  seems  to  borrow 
A  sunlight  from  thy  childish  years, 
Making  a  golden  cloud  of  sorrow, 
A  hope-lit  rainbow  out  of  tears." 

Pbovidence,  meantime,  was  ordering  an  unlooked-for 
and  grateful  change  in  Miss  Chubbuck's  destiny.  To- 
ward the  close  of  the  summer  term  of  the  Utica  Female 
Seminary,  Miss  Allen  of  Monisville,  one  of  its  best 
pupils,  and  a  warm  friend  of  Emily,  laid  before  the  prin- 
cipal. Miss  Urania  E.  Sheldon,  the  subject  of  her  ad- 
mission to  its  privileges.  The  proposition  was,  that  she 
should  be  allowed  to  spend  two  or  three  years  in  pur- 
suing higher  studies  in  the  school,  and  subsequently 
make  payment  when  she  should  become  established  as 
a  teacher.  Similar  favors  had  been  already  extended 
by  Miss  Sheldon,  acting  conjointly  with  her  sister.  Miss 
Cynthia,  to  many  young  ladies,  who  were  now  filling  im- 
portant posts  as  teachers  in  different  sections  of  the 
country.  The  application  was  successful.-  Interested 
in  what  they  were  told  of  Emily's  talents  and  energy, 
they  invited  her  to  the  Seminary,  with  the  assurance 
that,  if  circumstances  favored,  she  should  complete  her 
education  there  without  present  charge,  and  otherwise 


54  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

should  receive  gratuitous  instruction  for  a  single  term. 
The  proposal  was  gladly  accepted,  and  the  next  term 
found  her  an  inmate  of  the  institution,  pursuing  French, 
mathematics,  drawing,  etc. 

How  grateful  the  change  the  reader  will  readily  antici- 
pate. Hitherto,  as  far  as  domestic  obligations  and  a 
state  of  health  ever  trembling  on  the  verge  of  illness 
allowed,  she  had  been  struggling  to  eke  out  her  scanty 
means,  and  those  of  the  family,  by  officiating  as  the  mis- 
tress of  a  country  school.  Whatever  the  benefits  of  this 
employment — and  its  discipline  was,  in  many  respects, 
salutary — ^yet  she  had  to  submit  to  much  that  sorely 
tried  her  sensitive  spirit,  while  the  drudgery  was  often 
well  nigh  greater  than  she  could  bear.  Pegasus  in  the 
harness  of  the  boor  was  a  fitting  symbol  of  her  deli- 
cate, ethereal  nature  in  the  rude  companionship  which 
she  often  encountered.  From  all  this  she  was  now  freed, 
and  the  change,  though  it  did  not  exempt  her  from  the 
need  of  strenuous  exertion  (for  it  was  not  to  be  strictly 
a  lucrative  one),  brought  her  into  a  congenial  atmosphere, 
and  gave  her  a  permanent  place  with  sympathizing  com- 
panions. The  Seminary,  pleasantly  situated  in  the  hand- 
some city  of  Utica,  had  attained  a  high  reputation  under 
the  management  of  the  Misses  Sheldon,  Miss  Urania  being 
the  principal,  and  Miss  Cynthia  having  charge  of  the  ex- 
ecutive and  financial  departments.  Their  venerable  pa- 
rents, whom  to  know  was  to  love  and  reverence  as  patterns 
of  every  natural  and  Christian  virtue,  were  at  the  head  of 
the  household.  With  them,  besides  the  Misses  Sheldon, 
resided  an  elder,  widowed  daughter,  Mrs.  Anable,  with 
her  son,  Courtland,  and  several  daughters.  One  of  these, 
Anna  Maria,  near  Emily's  own  age,  was  yet  to  become 
her  bosom  companion.     They  were  a  family  of  rare  ex- 


"author-land/'  55 

cellence,  and  eminently  qualified  for  the  high  charge  which 
they  had  undertaken — well  fitted  to  meet  the  demands 
of  a  nature  like  Emily's  ;  able  to  appreciate  her  endow- 
ments of  mind  and  character ;  to  detect  the  rare  gem 
concealed  beneath  her  shrinking  exterior ;  and,  though 
not  wealthy,  endowed  with  a  large-hearted  benevolence 
which  evinced  itself  in  the  most  affectionate  interest  in 
all  her  concerns.  Counsel,  sympathy,  encouragement  to 
that  career  of  letters  for  which  she  soon  displayed  her 
capacity,  were  all  hers.  They  took  her  into  their  inmost 
circle,  and  gave  a  home  to  her  heart  as  well  as  to  her 
person.  To  the  elder  members  of  the  family  she  ever 
afterward  looked  up  with  the  grateful  reverence  of  a 
child  ;  to  the  younger  ones  she  became  as  a  sister  ;  and 
the  unfaltering  afiection  of  all  followed  her  through  her 
years  of  exile  and  of  widowhood  down  to  the  gates  of  the 
grave. 

Th(3  following  extract  of  a  letter  from  Miss  Anable  to 
Dr.  K.  W.  Griswold,  gives  a  glimpse  of  her  appearance 
at  this  time : 

"  I  remember  well  her  first  appearance  in  Utica  as  a  pupil. 
She  was  a  frail,  slender  creature,  shrinking  with  nervous  tim- 
idity from  observation  ;  yet  her  quiet  demeanor,  noiseless  step, 
low  voice,  earnest  and  observant  glance  of  the  eye,  awakened  at 
once  interest  and  attention.  Her  mind  soon  began  to  exert  a 
quiet  but  powerful  influence  in  the  school,  as  might  be  seen  from 
the  little  coterie  of  young  admirers  and  friends  who  would  often 
assemble  in  her  room  to  discuss  the  literature  of  the  day,  or, 
full  as  often,  the  occurrences  of  passing  interest  in  the  institu- 
tion. Miss  Chubbuck  had  a  heart  full  of  sympathy,  and  no 
grief  was  too  causeless,  no  source  of  annoyance  too  slight,  for 
her  not  to  endeavor  to  remove  them.  She  therefore  soon  be- 
came a  favorite  with  the  younger,  as  with  the  older  and  more 


56  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

appreciative  scholars.  Iler  advice  was  asked,  her  opinions 
sought,  and  her  taste  consulted.  Many  things  illustrative  of 
her  influence  over  the  young  at  this  time  crowd  upon  my 
memory,  but  I  have  no  leisure  at  present  to  write  them  more 
fully. 

Emily  thus  fully  justified  her  friend's  commendation 
and  the  anticipations  with  which  she  had  been  admitted 
into  the  Seminary.  As  a  scholar  she  at  once  put  herself 
into  the  very  first  rank,  mastering  with  ease  the  most 
difficult  studies.  Indeed,  her  masculine  intellect  always 
delighted  in  grappling  with  abstruse  problems.  As  a 
writer  she  distinguished  herself  even  more,  both  by  the 
easy  elegance  of  her  prose  style,  and  her  graceful  facility 
in  versification.  True,  the  depths  of  her  nature  had  not 
been  yet  sufficiently  stirred  to  reach  the  deeper  fountains 
of  her  poetic  power.  Larger  experiences,  richer  joys, 
keener  sorrows,  were  to  evoke  from  her  spirit  its  noblest 
harmonies.  The  following  to  Mrs.  Bates  gives  an  ink- 
ling of  her  situation  : — 

Utica,  December  8, 1840. 

My  own  Maria  Dear, — 

I  wrote  you  last  week,  but  as  the  letter  remains  in  hand 
yet,  and  upon  a  review  I  find  a  very  strong  tinge  of  sadness 
about  it,  I  have  concluded  to  write  again,  lest  you  should  think 
me  tres-miserahle,  when,  on  the  contrary,  I  am  tres-heureuse. 
O,  Maria,  this  is  a  happy,  happy  place,  and  Miss  Sheldon  I  love 
dearly. 

In  my  other  letter,  dear  Maria,  I  talked  to  you  a  great  deal 
about  our  childhood's  days,  when  you  were  such  a  bright, 
busy  "humming-bird,"  and  I  your  shadow ;  but  as  I  feel  now  I 
can  not  mourn  over  them.  I  have  been  with  Miss  Sheldon  to- 
night, and  she  is  the  dearest  comforter  in  the  world,  and  makes 
me  believe  that  all  will  be  right  with  me  yet.     My  health  is 


57 

mucli  better  than  it  was  last  summer,  and  my  spirits  rise  in  pro- 
portion, except  when — vH  importe.  I  shall  not  talk  of  that  now. 
But,  O,  when  I  sit  down  alone,  and  in  my  selfishness  think 
there  is  no  woe  like  mine,  then,  Maria,  I  want  you  by. 

Maria,  I  have  half  a  mind  to  consult  you  concerning  a  scheme 
which  I  broached  to  Miss  Sheldon  the  other  day.  I  have  al- 
ways shrunk  from  doing  any  thing  in  a  public  capacity,  and 
that"  has  added  a  great  deal  to  my  school-teaching  troubles. 
But  O,  necessity !  necessity !  Did  you  ever  think  of  such  a 
thing  as  selling  brains  for  money  ?  And  then,  such  brains  as 
mine!  Do  you  think  I  could  prepare  for  the  press  a  small 
volume  of  poems  that  would  produce  the  desired — I  must  speak 
it — cash  ? 

I  wish,  Maria,  you  could  see  Miss  Sheldon,  you  would  so  love 
her.  My  love  for  her  I  sometimes  think  is  almost  idolatry. 
She  makes  every  one  happy  about  her,  and  the  school  is  more 
like  a  happy  family  than  any  thing  else.  Perhaps  you  already 
know  that  her  father's  family  are  here,  and  they  are  all  so  good 
and  kind  to  us  girls  that  we  look  upon  them  as  parents  and 
elder  sisters.  I  sometimes  think  of  home,  and  then  I  want  to 
be  with  my  parents  and  dear  Kate ;  I  sometimes  think,  too,  of 
the  past — a  few  past  years.  0  Maria,  how  did  I  live  ? 
Yours  truly, 

E.  E.  Chubbuck. 

The  term  closed  in  December.  The  experiment  had 
been  tried,  and  of  course  with  the  only  result  possible 
for  one  of  her  capacity.  She  returned  in  January  with 
assurances  of  support,  so  far  as  her  board  and  instruc- 
tion were  concerned,  and  with  brightening  hopes.  At 
the  suggestion,  or  rather  urgent  advice  of  Miss  Sheldon 
she  began  to  employ  her  intervals  from  school  duties  in 
writing  for  the  press,  the  prospect  of  publishing  a  vol- 
ume of  poems  hinted  at  in  the  preceding  letter,  being 
abandoned.     Her  articles  scattered  through  the  newspa- 

3* 


58  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

pers  had  been  mostly  anonymous,  and  all  without  a 
thought  of  remuneration.  She  shrunk  now  from  appear- 
ing before  the  public  ;  and  the  first  suggestion  of  making 
the  Muses  venal,  of  transmuting  Helicon  into  Pactolus, 
struck  her  almost  as  desecrating  the  gift  of  genius,  much 
as  the  contemplation  of  "Apollo's  venal  son"  horrified  the 
youthful  enthusiasm  of  Lord  Byron.  But  Emily,  like 
Byron,  got  over  this  virgin  weakness,  as  she  ought,  find- 
ing that  romance  and  sensibility,  though  a  beautiful 
fringe  for  life,  will  not  answer  for  its  web.  Genius  must 
eat  as  well  as  dream  ;  and  they  who  enrich  the  world 
with  their  high  spiritual  creations,  must  not  disdain 
its  vulgar  material  returns.  And  ordinarily  they  do 
not.  Experience  and  necessity  are  stern  teachers,  and 
tread  ruthlessly  on  sensitive  nerves.  In  their  school 
Emily  had  learned  many  a  bitter  lesson.  Taking  coun- 
sel of  necessity  and  of  her  excellent  friends,  the  Misses 
Sheldon,  she  commenced  writing  a  small  book  for  chil- 
dren. "  Charles  Linn,  or  how  to  observe  the  Golden 
Kule,"  was  begun  in  January  and  finished  in  March  fol- 
lowing. Through  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Hawley,  member 
of  a  book-selling  firm  in  Utica,  it  was  accepted  and  put 
to  press  by  Messrs.  Dayton  &  Sax^on  of  New  York  city. 
It  was  issued  in  July,  and  Emily  was  bodily — spiritually 
rather,  before  the  public. 

Written  as  was  "  Charles  Linn"  within  the  space  of 
three  months,  in  hours  abstracted  from  heavy  school  du- 
ties, and  frequent  attacks  of  illness,  it  showed  no  slight 
facility  in  composition.  It  has  the  faults  of  inexperi- 
ence. The  story  is  not  very  skillfully  planned  ;  charac- 
ters are  transformed  with  unnatural  rapidity ;  and  the 
language  of  vulgar  life  is,  perhaps,  used  a  little  too  freely. 
But  its  moral  is  excellent ;  it  sparkles  with  many  flashes 


"author-land."  59 

of  genius  ;  it  is  not  for  a  moment  dull ;  and  it  displays 
much  of  that  grace  of  style,  and  descriptive  and  dramatic 
power  which  afterward  won  for  her  so  brilliant  a  repu- 
tation. It  was  favorably  and  even  flatteringly  received  by 
the  circle  whom  so  unpretending  a  book  would  naturally 
reach,  and  authorized  sanguine  hopes  of  yet  higher  suc- 
cess. 

In  April  Emily  was  appointed  assistant  instructor  in 
the  department  of  English  composition.  For  this  service 
she  was  well  fitted.  The  creative  and  the  critical  faculty 
differ  so  widely  that  the  power  to  write  well  does  not 
always  argue  a  corresponding  capacity  to  judge  the  pro- 
ductions of  others.  Some  have  much  constructive,  but 
little  analytical  talent ;  they  can  put  together,  but  can 
not  take  apart ;  can  create,  but  can  not  criticize.  The 
emotional  and  imaginative  elements  predominate  over 
the  intellectual.  This  is  likely  to  be  eminently  true  of 
woman,  partly  from  her  more  sensitive  organization, 
partly  from  the  prevailing  character  of  her  culture. 
Emily  combined  with  her  highly  enthusiastic  and  poetic 
temperament,  a  clear  eye  and  a  keen  analytical  judg- 
ment. With  a  woman's  quickness  and  delicacy  of  feel- 
ing she  united  a  robust  and  masculine  understanding. 
She  early  learned  to  study  the  principles  of  the  effects 
which  she  produced,  and  hence  the  fervor  of  fancy  rarely 
betrayed  her  beyond  the  bounds  of  a  regulated  self-con- 
sciousness. Thus  she  became  a  good  critic  of  the  pro- 
ductions of  others,  and  ultimately  of  her  own.  But  her 
health  now  became  miserable.  Study,  teaching,  and  au- 
thorship combined  were  too  much  for  her  slender  consti- 
tution :  her  disordered  nerves  reenacted  the  caprices  of 
childhood,  and  forced  her  to  abandon  all  her  severer  stud- 
ies.    The  following  letters  give  glimpses  of  her  struggles 


60  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

physical,  mental,  and  pecuniary.  The  details  of  the 
straits  to  which  she  was  driven,  and  of  the  rigorous 
economy  which  she  was  forced  to  employ  to  meet  her 
most  necessary  incidental  expenses,  if  proper  to  be  made 
public,  could  not  but  enKst  for  her  the  liveliest  sym- 
pathy. But  we  draw  the  vail  over  them,  leaving  the 
reader  to  judge  from  two  or  three  specimens. 

I  remark  here  that  in  giving  Miss  Chubbuck's  letters, 
I  do  not  always  indicate  unimportant  omissions.  Real 
letters  must  always  contain  much  which  should  not 
meet  the  public  eye ;  and  Emily's  were  real  letters, 
dashed  off  hastily  amidst  pressing  cares  and  duties. 
Written  also  after  the  exhausting  labors  of  the  day, 
they  by  no  means  do  uniform  justice  to  her  epistolary 
powers. 

TO    HER    SISTER. 

Utioa,  June  16, 1841. 

Ma  Chere  Kit, — 

I  am  not  in  the  best  possible  humor  for  letter-writing  to- 
day, but  knowing  that  you  will  be  obliged  to  pay  the  fee  before 
you  examine  the  contents,  here  is  at  ye  for  a  scribble.  This 
morning  I  had  a  mammoth  tooth  extracted,  and  the  rest  are 
now  dancing  right  merrily  in  commemoration  of  the  event ;  so 
you  must  not  wonder  if  my  ideas  dance  in  unison.  Kate,  you 
may  be  sick  for  aught  I  know — "  dreadful  sick ;"  but  scarce  a 
particle  of  pity  will  selfishness  allow  me  for  you,  for  know  that 
I  too  am  an  invalid.  I  am  growing  rich  "  mighty  fast,"  I  can 
assure  you  ;  rich  alike  in  purse  and  brain,  by — doing  nothing. 
Do  you  not  envy  me  ?  I  wrote  you  that  I  could  pay  ray  way 
this  term,  study  French,  draw,  and  be  allowed  the  use  of  the 
oil-paints.  Well,  first  I  dropped  oil-painting ;  it  was  too  hard 
for  me.  Then  I  threw  aside  drawing  to  save  my  nerves,  and  at 
last  French  was  found  quite  too  much.     Afterwards  I  wrote  a 


"  AUTHOR-LAND."  61 

little,  but  have  of  late  been  obliged  to  abandon  the  pen  entirely. 
What  is  to  become  of  me  I  do  not  know.  Here  I  am  doing 
enough  to  pay  ny  board,  and  attending  to  one  class,  by  which 
I  shall  earn  six  dollars  ;  thus  wasting,  absolutely  throwing  away 
my  time.  Miss  Sheldon  says,  if  I  never  pay  her  she  shall  not 
trouble  herself;  but  she  intends,  she  says,  to  keep  me  here  as 
composition  teacher,  which  will  be  as  profitable  as  any  other 
teaching,  and  for  me,  rather  easier.  I  can  attend  to  the  com- 
positions when  I  feel  like  it,  and  not  at  particular  hours.  Miss 
Cynthia  has  not  returned  yet,  but  Miss  U.  is  very  kind  to  me, 
and  although  I  am  merely  working  for  my  board,  I  feel  it  my 
duty  to  stay. 

Now  pray,  do  not  think,  by  what  I  have  written,  that  I 
am  really  ill.  I  am  only  "fidgety" — i.  e.,  nervous — as  I  used 
to  be  in  the  days  of  babyhood.  To  be  sure,  I  do  not  see 
"  kittens  "  dance  ;  but  then  sometimes  the  whole  table  full  of 
young  ladies  seem  in  tumultuous  motion.  I  can  walk  better 
than  I  could  last  spring ;  but  I  can  not  endure  the  least  mental 
excitement,  and  the  slight  noise  that  I  now  make  with  my  pen 
produces  a  horrid  sensation,  as  if  every  scratch  went  deep  into 
my  brain.  I  sometimes  almost  fear  that  I  shall  be  crazy,  but 
that  is  nonsense. 

Why  do  you  not  send  the  money  for  your  dress  ?  I  have  not 
had  a  new  waist  to  my  chale,  for  I  have  not  a  cent  of  money  on 
earth,  and  Miss  C,  you  know,  is  gone.  I  had  my  brown  bonnet 
repaired,  and  it  looks  as  simple  as  a  cottage-girl's;  but  /  have 
not  paid  for  it.  My  -white  bonnet  I  have  pulled  to  pieces  and 
laid  by.  If  I  had  any  money  to  pay  for  the  coloring,  I  would 
take  it  to  the  dyer's,  and  exchange  it  with  you  when  I  come 
home.  Miss  S.  has  given  me  some  slips  of  geranium,  but  I  am 
afraid  they  will  die,  because  I  can  not  get  any  jars  to  put  them 
in.  If  they  live  I  will  bring  them  to  you.  I  could  get  pretty 
flower-pots  for  eighteen  pence  apiece.  O  poverty,  how  vexa- 
tious thou  art !  .... 

This  is  a  wondrously  loving  letter,  I  must  say.     But  never 


62  LIFE    OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

mind  ;  if  I  do  not  write  the  love  I  shall  have  the  more  for  you 
when  I  get  home.  Seven  weeks !  Whew !  They  will  go  like 
a  whiz !  I  would  like  to  have  you  burn  thij,  for  I  have  some- 
thing of  an  idea  that  it  would  not  look  well  saved. 

Eloisb. 

to  mrs.  bates. 

Utica  Female  Seminaet,  June  23,  1S41. 

Very  Dear  Maria, — 

I  have  to  commence  in  a  very  letter-like  manner,  viz.,  by 
asking  pardon  for  delays,  at  the  same  time,  however,  hoping 
that  your  attention  has  been  so  much  engrossed  by  your  pleas- 
ant cares,  that  my  silence  has  been  scarcely  noticed.  How  is 
the  little  one,  and  your  own  dear  self,  and  Mr.  B.  ?  I  hope  the 
spring  brought  back  more  color  to  his  face  than  it  wore  when 
I  was  with  you. 

O,  you  do  not  know  how  much  I  want  to  see  you;  and, 
Maria,  forgive  me,  but  I  can  but  wish  that  you  were  a  school- 
girl again,  and  here.  How  can  I  help  thinking  of  you  when  I 
look  out  on  the  sun-lighted  hills,  and  the  flowing  Mohawk  ;  on 
the  waving  shrubbery,  and  the  dark,  dense  foliage  of  the  distant 
forests?  How  can  I  help  wishing  you  were  by  me,  when  I 
visit,  with  some  uncaring  friend,  the  thousand  and  one  romantic 
spots  that  cluster  in  this  delightful  valley  ?  You  do  not  know 
how  I  like  the  scenery  around  Utica !  The  "  slop-bowl  of  the 
Union"  is  likely  to  make  itself  very  attractive  to  me.  I 
have  a  most  delightful  view  from  my  window,  and  often 
when  my  brain  has  ached  with  exertion,  I  have  sat  for  hours 
and  watched  the  waves  of  light  as  they  chased  each  other  over 
the  brow  of  the  far-off  hills,  or  sparkled  on  the  waters  of  the 
Mohawk. 

Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  am  about,  dear  Maria  ?  Well,  silenc 
ing  all  the  poetic  aspirations  I  may  have  ever  had,  and  chaining 
down  my  thoughts  and  feelings  to — ^what  think  you  ?-^stories 
for  children.     You  ought  to  thank  me,  for  who  knows  but  they 


63 

may  be  the  means  of  making  your  little  Edward  Francis  (by  the 
way,  I  do  like  the  name)  "  moral,  good,  and  wise."  Seriously, 
Maria,  I  am  engaged  in  the  very  thing  that  you  would  least  of 
all  expect,  and  for  which,  if  I  am  any  judge  of  my  own  talents, 
I  am  least  qualified.  I  have  a  little  volume  now  in  the  press  of 
Dayton  &  Saxton  (New  York),  entitled  "  Charles  Linn,  or  How 
to  Observe  the  Golden  Rule,"  and  am  .preparing  another  for  the 
same  publishers.  They  settle  with  me  once  in  six  months,  al- 
lowing me  ten  per  cent,  on  the  net  price  of  the  books.  A  num- 
ber of  wise  heads  have  together  concocted  this  plan  for  me,  and 
I  think  it,  on  the  whole,  the  best  that  could  be  devised.  Poetry, 
unless  of  a  superior  kind,  is  not  saleable,  and  my  present  duties 
forbid  my  attempting  any  thing  of  a  higher  order.  I  do  not 
study  this  term — my  health  is  not  good  enough ;  but  I  have 
charge  of  a  composition  class  consisting  of  an  hundred  and  twelve 
young  ladies.     Is  not  that  enough  ? 

Now,  Marie,  I  have  Fd  my  way  through  two  whole  pages, 
and  I  suppose  you  can  dispense  with  any  more  egotism  ;  but  I 
shall  not  promise  not  to  talk  of  /  any  more.  Have  you  seen 
the  new  work  by  Washington  Irving,  "  Memoirs  of  Margaret 
Davidson?"  I  have  just  finished  reading  it,  and  know  not 
which  to  admire  most,  the  fond  mother,  the  frail,  but  gifted 
daughter,  or  the  justly  celebrated  biographer. 

You  ask  if  Miss  Sheldon  is  all  that  she  was.  Aye,  more. 
She  is  all  the  world  to  me  now — my  guide,  my  director  in 
every  thing.  She  takes  a  mother's  care  of  me.  If  I  ever  suc- 
ceed, I  shall  owe  it  all  to  her ;  and  if  I  fail,  I  shall  care  more 
on  her  account  than  that  of  any  being  living.  Four  years  ago 
the  encouragements  now  held  out  to  me,  the  bright  hopes  of 
literary  distinction  which  sometimes  I  almost  feel  I  am  entitled 
to  indulge,  would  have  quite  bewildered  me.  But  now  I  have 
lost  my  ambition.  Were  I  certain  of  the  most  unparelleled 
success,  without  any  other  inducement  than  fame,  I  should  lay 
down  my  pen  for  ever,  or  take  it  up  only  for  my  own  amuse- 


64  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON, 

ment.     Necessity  at  present  urges  me  to  this  exertion,  and 
when  the  necessity  is  past,  then  is  the'work  past  also. 

Excuse  this  letter,  Marie,  dear,  for  I  am  an  invalid  to-day ; 
and  to-morrow,  if  well  enough,  I  must  resume  my  work  of  story- 
telling. I  am  anxious  now  to  complete  the  volume  on  which 
I  am  engaged  before  the  vacation,  which  will  occur  in  six 
weeks.  , 

Yours  devotedly, 

Emily  E.  Chubbuck. 

Write  me  often ;  please  do,  for  I  have  but  few  correspondents 
now;  and  when. I  am  sad  and  lonely,  a  letter  is,  as  the  French- 
man said,  "  like  to  von  oasis  in  the  desert,"  or,  with  the  penny- 
a-liner,  "  balm  to  the  wounded  spirit." 

TO    HER    SISTER. 

Utioa.  Female  Sbminaey,  July  6, 1841. 

Dear  Kit, — 

Not  a  word  do  I  hear  from  you,  notwithstanding  all  my 
trying  and  coaxing,  and  I  suppose  you  would  be  much  obliged 
if  I  would  follow  your  example  ;  but  that  is  out  of  the  question. 
I  will  write  if  it  is  only  to  plague  you.  And  why  shouldn't  I  ? 
If  you  will  not  tell  any  news,  why,  I  must  make  up  for  the  de- 
ficiency. Well,  then,  first,  the  July  number  of  the  Lady's 
Book  has  come,  but,  terrible  to  relate  !  my  poor  "  Old  Man" 
has  not  the  expected  place  in  its  columns.  If  I  had  not  the 
magnanimity  of  a — a — oh,  dear  !  I  can  not  think  of  a  suitable 
comparison ;  but  I  do  think  there  is  a  wondrous  deal  of  good- 
ness in  me  not  to  sting  the  undiscriminating  editors  most 
scientifically  with  my  powerful  pen !  But  then  I  lay  it  to  their 
ignorance  ;  what  a  soothing  unction  !  Secondly,  the  July  num- 
ber of  the  Knickerhocker  has  brought  out  with  flattering  haste 
my  "Where  are  the  Dead?"  for  it  has  been  in  their  pos- 
session not  yet  a  month;  and  consider,  Kate,  the  Knicker- 
hocker is,  perhaps,  the  most  popular  periodical  in  the  United 
States.    Thirdly,  my  "  Charles  Linn"  has  come — a  beautiful 


"  author-land/'  65 

little  volume  of  112  pages.  It -will  be  worth  about  five  sbil- 
lings.  I  have  no  copies  now  in  my  possession,  but  suppose  I 
can  get  some  before  long ;  at  least  I  will  try  to  bring  home  as 
many  as  two  (you  know  I  am  obliged  to  pay  as  much  for  them 
as  any  body).  I  am  very  much  encouraged  about  the  sale 
of  the  thing.  The  publishers  could  not  send  me  the  proof- 
sheets,  so  there  are  some  mistakes  in  the  volume.  My  next 
book  is  about  half  written,  but  not  copied  at  all.  I  shall  not 
get  it  done  this  term,  but  mean  to  bring  it  home  to  finish. 
There  is  an  article  of  mine  in  the  Mother's  Journal  of  this 
month. 

My  health  is  somewhat  better  than  when  I  last  wrote,  and  I 
do  hope  that  it  will  continue.  Miss  Cynthia,  Miss  Urania,  and 
ever  so  many  other  good  folks  here  are  as  glad  about  my  suc- 
cess as  you  will  be.  Oh,  I  love  to  write  when  people  are  inter- 
ested for  me ;  it  makes  the  labor  ten  times  lighter  ;  and  I  have 
succeeded  beyond  what  I  ever  expected,  or  even  hoped.  "  Yet 
all  this,"  as  Haman  said,  "  avails  me  nothing,"  so  long  as  I  see 
my  empty  wallet  lying  useless  in  my  trunk,  and  my  bills  ac- 
cumulating. But  hope,  hope.  The  publishers  settle  with  me 
in  six  months,  and  next  January  brings,  if  not  "  golden  opin- 
ions" exactly,  silver  ones.     .     .     . 

Do,  if  you  care  one  cent  for  me,  write  immediately ;  for  I 
have  imagined  that  all  sorts  of  things  had  happened  to  you  till 
I  became  half  crazy,  and  have  then  turned  the  scale  by  getting 
desperately  angry.  Now  write,  and  make  up  friends  speedily, 
or  prepare  for  the  everlasting  hatred  of 

Amy  Scribbleton. 

In  September,  Emily  was  duly  installed  head  of  the 
composition  department,  with  a  salary  of  one  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  and  her  board.  The  duties  were  ardu- 
ous, but  to  her  taste,  and  the  salary,  with  the  proceeds 
of  her  newly-begun  authorship,  might  justify  some  en- 
largement of  her  plans.    The  most  urgent  pressure  of 


66  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

self-support  taken  off,  she  reverted  to  her  cherished  plan 
of  sharing  her  privileges  with  her  younger  sister.  She 
sent  for  her  in  October,  although  compelled  by  this 
added  draft  on  her  purse  both  to  practice  herself  and 
enjoin  on  her  sister  the  severest  economy,  and  then,  after 
all,  throw  herself  back  on  the  irrepressible  trustfulness 
of  youth.  After  mentioning  a  variety  of  little  neces- 
sary things  which  she  must  procure  for  her  sister  and 
herself,  she  felicitates  herself  that  she  shall  still  be  in 
funds  by  the  amount  of  fifty  cents. 

In  October,  she  received  from  her  publishers  fifty-one 
dollars  for  the  first  edition  of  "  Charles  Linn,"  which 
consisted  of  fifteen  hundred  copies,  and  was  sold  in 
eleven  weeks.  This  was  an  auspicious  opening.  She 
began  to  feel  t^e  inspiring  conviction  that  she  had  a 
mine  of  wealth  within  her  which  might  be  worked  with 
unlimited  returns,  that  "though  the  body  might  be 
dragged  about  with  difficulty,"  she  possessed  in  her  in- 
tellect "unfailing  resources."  But,  alas  !  that  "drag- 
ging about"  of  the  body  was  no  joke  ;  and  every  author 
knows  how  close  is  the  sympathy  between  mind  and 
body ;  how  heavily  hang  the  fetters  of  the  suffering 
flesh  on  the  wings  of  the  soaring  spirit.  Emily's  whole 
path  of  authorship  was,  physically  considered,  an  up- 
hill and  toilsome  one.  With  throbbing  head  and  ting- 
ling nerves,  and  an  aching  heart,  she  sat  down  to  her 
papers,  and  it  was  only  by  sending  her  thoughts  away 
to  the  humble  roof  which  sheltered  those  who  were 
dearer  to  her  than  life,  and  reflecting  on  the  sweetness 
of  ministering  to  their  wants,  that  she  could  spur  her 
flagging  energies  to  their  work.  This  was  her  fountain 
of  inspiration  ;  and  hence  the  deepening  night  often 
witnessed,  sometimes  those  gushes  of  inspiration  to  which 


67 

its  stillness  was  so  congenial,  and  sometimes  the  in- 
effectual struggles  of  her  spirit  with  the  weariness  of  the 
flesh.  A  single  incident  will  stand  for  many.  As  Miss 
Sheldon  was  at  one  time  passing  near  midnight  through 
the  halls,  a  light  streaming  from  Emily's  apartment 
attracted  her  attention,  and,  softly  opening  the  door,  she 
stole  in  upon  her  vigils.  Emily  sat  in  her  night-dress, 
her  papers  lying  outspread  before  her,  grasping  with 
both  hands  her  throbbing  temples,  and  pale  as  a  marble 
statue.  Miss  Sheldon  went  to  her,  whispered  words 
of  sympathy,  and  gently  chided  her  for  robbing  her 
system  of  its  needed  repose.  Emily's  heart  was  already 
full,  and  now  the  fountain  of  feeling  overflowed  in  un- 
controllable weeping.  "Oh,  Miss  Sheldon,"  she  ex- 
claimed, "  I  must  write,  I  must  write  ;  I  must  do  what 
I  can  to  aid  my  poor  parents." 

In  November  Emily  completed  "  The  Great  Secret,  or 
How  to  be  Happy."  It  was  published  in  July  following 
by  Dayton  &  Newman,  successors  to  Dayton  &  Saxton. 
She  writes  thus 

TO    MRS.    BATES. 

Utica,  January  11, 1842. 

Very  Dear  Marie, — 

When  I  received  your  very  kind  letter  dated — tell  it  not  in 
Gath  ! — October  3d,  I  did  not  think  two  days  would  pass  ere  an 
answer  would  be  on  the  way  to  you.  But  O  the  vanity  of  human 
expectations,  in  more  instances  than  one  !  That  very  day  there 
came  a  heavy  disappointment.  Before  I  left  home  I  had  laid  a 
a  plan  for  having  Catharine  come  here  if  my  "  Monthly  Rose" 
should  meet  with  success,  when  lo !  a  failure.  Now  you  must 
not  tell  of  this ;  for  we  would-be  authors  are  rather  sore  on 
such  points,  and  care  not  to  have  the  world  witness  our  morti- 
fication. You  will  recollect  that  our  hopes  of  the  "  Monthly 
Rose"  were  rather  sanguine,  and  Mr.  Hawley  wrote  from  New 


68  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON, 

York  that  the  publishers  were  delighted,  and  intended  bringing 
it  out  with  some  eight  or  ten  engravings.  Judge,  then,  of  my 
disappointment  when  I  found  it  returned  upon  my  hands,  j&t  for 
nothing  but  waste  paper.  It  seems  that  the  publishers  employ 
a  manuscript  reader  whose  decree  upon  every  work  is  law,  and 
said  critic  decided  that  my  humble  effort  should  be  laid  upon 
the  table,  or  subjected  to  the  dissecting  knife  of  the  poor 
author !  Who  would  dissect  his  own  bantling?  Not  I — not  I. 
My  heart  has  "  too  much  of  tenderness."  Well,  after  finding 
fault  with  the  title,  the  plan,  the  style  of  the  prose,  the  poetry 
en  masse,  and,  in  short,  every  thing  but  three  or  four  stories, 
which  he  deigned  to  compliment,  he  sent  it  back  to  me  for  re- 
vision. Kevision !  As  well  pour  water  into  a  sieve,  and  try 
to  save  what  is  left.  I  stubbornly  declared  against  the  altera- 
tion of  a  single  word — even  "  Alma  Mater  "  which,  said  critic 
thought,  sounds  pedantic — and  folded  up  my  manuscript  to  await 
a  more  auspicious  moment  for  introducing  it  to  the  world.  I 
laughed  and  pretended  not  to  care ;  but  it  was  a  disappointment 
nevertheless,  and  a  severe  one ;  for  what  now  was  to  become  of 
Kate  ?  My  spirit  rose  in  proportion  to  the  difficulties,  and  hav- 
ing received  fifty-one  dollars  for  the  first  edition  of  "Charles 
Linn,"  I  wrote  to  her  to  come,  and  then  sat  down  to  scribble 
another  book.  In  less  than  a  fortnight  I  had  written  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  pages,  besides  attending  to  my  duties  as  com- 
position teacher,  and  then  all  at  once  I  failed  and  poor  Kate, 
instead  of  studying,  was  obliged  to  take  care  of  me.  I  recov- 
ered slowly,  but  not  so  as  to  be  able  to  accomplish  much,  and 
so  did  not  finish  the  work  I  had  commenced  a  la  Jehu,  until  the 
close  of  the  term.  I  spent  the  vacation  at  home,  but  was  not 
able  to  go  out  while  there,  and  returned  to  school  last  Satur- 
day, expecting  to  do  just  "  nothing  at  all."  Now  I  have  given 
you  a  history  of  the  past,  and  I  suspect  that  you  will  more 
readily  pardon  me  for  not  writing  before  than  for  telling  this 
"  long  yarn  "  which  has  filled  up  so  much  of  my  letter.  But  a 
word  more  of  these  affairs.    My  new  book  is  entitled  "The 


"  author-land/'  69 

Great  Secret,  or  How  to  be  Happy,"  and  I  am  not  at  all  confi- 
dent that  it  will  be  successful.  Kate  is  with  me  and  will  re- 
main until  spring.  She  takes  the  guitar,  flower  painting,  and 
drawing. 

Now,  how  is  your  health,  and  how  have  you  been  since  I  saw 
you  at  Morrisville?  Well,  and  happy?  I  doubt  it  not  for 
why  should  you  not  be  ? 

The  flowers  around  the  ingle  side 

May  not  the  proudest  be, 
But  they  the  richest  fragrance  shed ; 

And  these  unfold  for  thee. 

Now  do  not  criticize  this  doggerel ;  I  am  sure  I  do  not  call  it 
poetry. 

Marie,  I  thank  you  and  Mr.  Bates  also  for  your  praise  of 
"Charles  Linn,"  and  your  encouragement.  Think  how  oppor- 
tunely they  arrived  !  Just  when  my  New  York  critic  had  ad- 
ministered his  bitter  dose.  It  does  not  speak  very  highly  for 
my  ambition — (and,  after  all,  I  doubt  if  I  was  ever  formed  for 
such  a  rough-and-tumble,  soap-bubble  chase) — ^that  I  was  very 
glad  that  the  partial  friends  approved,  and  that  the  impartial 
stranger  was  the  critic.  I  would  rather  receive  the  approba- 
tion of  the  few  I  love,  than  of  the  whole  world  and  "  England 
into  the  bargain."  Tell  Mr.  Bates  I  thank  him  for  his  piece  of 
a  letter,  and  should  be  glad  to  see  as  much  in  all  of  yours,  and 
the  number  of  yours  "multiplied  by  twelve."  I  remain,  dear 
Marie, 

Yours  truly,  Emily  E.  Chubbuck. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

LIGHTS     AND     SHADES. 

"  Whitlier  is  fled  the  visionary  gleam  ? 
Where  is  it  now,  the  glory  and  the  dream  1" 

"In  the  dim  and  distant  ether 

The  first  star  is  shining  through, 
And  another,  and  another, 
Trembles  softly  in  the  blue." 

Having  rallied  from  the  illness  mentioned  above,  dur- 
ing the  winter,  while  the  "  Great  Secret "  was  await- 
ing publication.  Miss  Chubbuck  wrote  a  long  poem  in  the 
Spencerian  stanza,  called  "  Astonroga,  or  the  Maid  of  the 
Kock."  "Astonroga"^*  is  the  Indian  name  of  Little  Falls, 
a  place  on  the  Mohawk  Eiver,  about  twenty  miles  east  of 
Utica,  familiar  to  the  traveler  as  one  whose  picturesque 
and  even  savage  scenery  was  worthy  to  have  been  com- 
memorated by  the  author  of  the  "  Pioneers ''  and  "  The 
Last  of  the  Mohicans.^'  In  the  autumn  an  excursion 
had  been  made  by  the  young  ladies  of  the  Seminary  to 
this  beautiful  and  romantic  spot.  Emily  was  deeply  in- 
terested. She  wandered  thoughtful  and  almost  enchant- 
ed amidst  those  scenes  of  primeval  wildness  and  grandeur, 
where  the  pent  up  torrent  foams  and  thunders  down  its 
precipitous  and  hardly  won  channel,  while  around,, 

Rocks  piled  on  rocks,  confusedly  hurled. 
Seem  fragments  of  an  earlier  world ; 

*  A  note  in  Emily's  MS.  explains  it  as  "Rock  of  Thunder." 


LIGHTS  AND   SHADES.  71 

and  fancy  bore  her  back  to  the  time  when  only  the  roar 
of  the  torrent,  the  howling  of  the  wolf,  and  the  yell  of 
the  savage  broke  the  awful  solitude.  The  report  of  an 
Indian  legend  connected  with  a  particular  locality,  drew 
her  off  with  a  single  companion,  and  oblivious  of  time, 
she  yielded  herself  to  the  wild  interest  of  the  scene.  The 
time  arriving  for  the  return  of  the  party,  Emily  was 
missing.  Echo  alone  answered  to  their  calls,  and  she 
had  to  expiate  her  enthusiasm  by  a  late  and  solitary  re- 
turn. But  if  she  came  back  outwardly  unattended,  the 
airy  beings  of  the  imagination  flitted  around  her.  The 
wild  legend  lived  in  her  memory,  and  at  length  shaped 
itself  into  a  poem  of  four  cantos,  and  about  one  hundred 
and  fifty  stanzas.  It  is  executed  with  much  ability. 
The  story,  founded  on  the  contact  of  a  self-outlawed  son 
of  civilization  with  the  rude  children  of  the  forest,  is 
conducted  with  no  little  interest  and  skill ;  the  descrip- 
tions are  vivid  and  natural ;  and  the  difficult  Spencerian 
stanza  is  managed  with  an  ease  and  vigor  worthy  of  a 
practiced  hand — the  fruit,  in  part  of  her  early  familiarity 
with  "  Childe  Harold."  A  selection  from  the  poem  com- 
mences on  page  ninety-seven  of  "  The  Olio." 

Emily's  first  use  of  the  poem  was,  doubtless,  to  inflict 
the  reading  of  it  judicially  on  the  runaway  companions 
of  her  autumnal  expedition.  Her  next — to  lock  it  up 
snugly  in  her  drawer  ;  for  she  speaks  of  it  in  her  letter  as 
not  designed  for  publication.  But  when  was  an  author's 
resolution  against  printing  not  matter  of  legitimate  sus- 
picion ?  Here,  as  elsewhere,  c'est  le  premier  pas  qui  coute  ; 
and  abstinence  from  publication  by  one  who  has  got  a 
taste  of  printer's  ink  and  snuffed  the  breeze  of  popular 
favor,  may  be  counted  on  just  as  certainly  as  the  forbear- 
ance of  the  wolf  who  has  whetted  his  appetite  with  a 


72  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

single  victim  from  the  fold — and  no  more.  "  Astonroga  " 
was  sent  to  the  KnickerhocJcer  (to  which  she  had  contrib- 
uted a  few  pieces),  but  that  was  its  present  end.  It  slum- 
bered tranquilly  on  or  under  the  editor's  table,  until  the 
dawn  of  her  Fanny  Forester  reputation  drew  it  forth  to 
grace  under  that  popular  soubriquet  the  pages  of  which, 
while  unauthenticated  by  a  name,  it  had  been  counted 
unworthy.  It  is,  doubtless,  a  rightful  prerogative  of 
acknowledged  literary  reputation  that  its  productions 
find  an  instant  and  unquestioning  reception,  while  the 
unknown  candidates  for  favor  must  await  the  slow  pro- 
cesses of  trial.  But  this  may  be  carried  too  far,  and 
sterling  merit  forced  to  too  long  a  waiting. 

In  May,  '^Eiffie  Maurice,"  a  favorite  Sunday  school 
book  was  published  by  the  American  Baptist  Sunday- 
School  Union  in  Philadelphia. 

TO    MRS.    BATES. 

Utioa  Female  Seminart,  May  20, 1842. 

My  Dear  Marie, — 

I  ought  to  commence  this  letter  with  an  apology,  but  if  I 
should  apologize  to  the  end  of  it,  I  could  not  convince  either 
you  or  myself  that  I  had  not  been  unpardonably  negligent  in 
allowing  your  valued  letter  of — I  dare  not  mention  the  date — 
to  remain  so  long  unanswered.  The  truth  is,  Marie,  writing 
has  become  such  a  matter-of-fact,  doUar-and-cent  business  with 
me,  that  I  have  as  complete  a  horror  of  the  pen  as  a  sweep  of 
his  chimney  on  a  holiday.  Oh,  there  is  nothing  like  coining 
one's  brains  into  gold — no,  bread — to  make  the  heart  grow 
sick.  But  enough  of  this;  only  I  beg  of  you  just  to  take 
notice  that  though  writing,  from  a  pleasure,  has  become  an  in- 
tolerable bore,  reading  has  not;  so  do  not,  pray,  do  not  with- 
hold your  letters. 

Kate  went  home  in  March,  and  I  am  lonely  enough  without 
her ;  but  so  is  mother,  and  I  must  be  content.     Did  you  know 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADES.  73 

that  our  people  have  removed  to  Hamilton,  and  Wallace  is 
boarding  with  them  ?  I  suppose  they  are  only  too  happy ; 
why  can  not  I  join  them  ?  This  is  a  delightful  place ;  both  of 
the  Misses  Sheldon  are  extremely  kind  to  me,  and  I  love  the 
teachers  very  much  ;  but  mother  is  not  here. 

My  afiairs  in  the  business  line  are  not  very  prosperous — the 
hard  times  having  put  a  great  check  on  book-publishing.  "  The 
Great  Secret"  (Newman  &  Dayton,  publishers)  went  to  press 
some  five  or  six  weeks  ago,  and  I  am  expecting  it  very  sodn. 
Appleton  offers  to  take  my  "  Monthly  Rose"  under  the  new 
name  of  "  Buds  and  Blossoms ;"  but  the  price  he  would  allow 
is  too  srnall  to  pay  for  copying,  so  I  prefer  keeping  it.  I  have 
a  manuscript  of  about  fifty  pages  in  the  hands  of  a  publishing 
committee  in  Philadelphia,  but  its  fate  I  oan  conjecture  only 
from  a  consciousness  of  its  deserts. 

Last  term  I  perpetrated  a  sort  of  a  poem  called  "  Astonroga,, 
or,  the  Maid  of  the  Rock."  It  consisted  of  about  one  hunjired 
and  fifty  Spencerian  stanzas,  and  was  divided  into  four  cantos. 
It  was  not  intended  for  publication.  Now,  I  believe  you  have 
a  full  account  of  my  past  literary  labors  ;  and  as  you  may  wish 
to  know  what  I  have  done  this  term  (four  weeks  of  it  have 
passed),  I  will  tell  you.  I  have  written  one  letter  home,  cover- 
ing almost  one  page  ;  written  three  lines  of  a  temperance  song, 
which  jingle  most  beautifully ;  and  written  thus  much  of  a  let- 
ter to  you,  which  latter  effort  I  am  sure  you  will  pronounce 
comme  ilfaut.  Yet  I  have  not  been  very  idle.  My  composi- 
tion class  (consisting  of  all  the  young  ladies  in  the  school),  toe 
the  ipark  admirably,  and  of  course  I  claim  the  credit.  I  have 
read  "  Tecumseh,"  a  new  poem,  by  George  Colton ;  it  has 
many  faults,  but  i%  after  all,  a  fine  thing.  "  Cranmer  and  his 
Times,"  by  Miss  Lee,  I  have  read  with  the  greatest  pleasure ; 
also  the  life  of  Aaron  Burr,  and  find  it  vastly  interesting.  I 
have  on  the  table  before  me  an  "  American  Eclectic,"  with  a 
splendid  article  from  the  Edinburgh  Review^  written  by  Mac- 
aulay — a  sketch  of  the  life  of  Warren  Hastings.     So  you  see  J 

4 


74  LIFE    OF    MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

have  "  plenty  enough"  to  keep  me  busy,  and  as  the  hard  times 
make  writing  of  little  or  no  pecuniary  avail,  I  mean  to  do 
what  I  please.     .     .     . 

Your  affectionate 

E.  E.  Chubbuck. 

In  July;  the  "  Great  Secret"'  ajopeared  from  the  press 
of  Dayton  &  Nev^man.  Both  in  its  plan  and  execution 
it  is  superior  to  "  Charles  Linn/'  and  shows  that  capa- 
bility of  progress  which  is  one  of  the  surest  marks  of 
genius.  Genius  sometimes  begins  nearly  on  the  level 
of  mediocrity,  but  it  does  not  end  there.  New  vistas 
of  thought,  new  depths  of  spirit  life  open  before  it,  and 
the  wing  which  it  at  first  unfolded  timidly  and  feebly, 
soon  mounts  with  conscious  strength  to  a  loftier  region. 
An  hundred  young  gentlemen  of  England  could  have 
written  better  poems  than  the  "  Hours  of  Idleness,"  but 
a  few  years  later  the  author  of  "  Childe  Harold''  had  not 
his  j)oetical  peer.  In  the  '^  Great  Secret,"  the  author 
moves  with  a  firmer  tread  than  in  the  preceding  work  ; 
her  sketches  are  drawn  with  a  freer  hand,  and  the  story 
is  more  artistically  developed.  The  moral  tone  is  pure 
and  noble,  and  shows  that  while  writing  for  a  livelihood, 
she  had  at  heart  the  interests  of  virtue  and  religion. 

She  performed  mean  time,  with  equal  zeal  and  assi- 
duity, her  duties  as  teacher.  She  was  not  only  skillful 
in  imparting  instruction,  but,  apart  from  lessons,  had 
great  power  over  her  pupils.  Though  unobtrusive  and 
retiring,  she  was  a  shrewd  and  accurate  judge  of  charac- 
ter— quick  to  discern  in  her  pupils  the  latent  germs  of 
promise,  and  assiduous  and  skillful  in  their  development. 
Hence  many  were  indebted  to  her  for  first  awaking  them 
to  the  consciousness,  and  then  aiding  in  the  direction  of 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADES.  75 

their  powers.  In  judging  her  pupils  she  was  at  once  dis- 
criminating and  kind ;  quick  to  discern  their  faults ; 
still  more  prompt  to  recognize  their  virtues.  Strong  as 
were  her  personal  likes  and  dislikes — and  such  belong  to 
a  temperament  like  hers — she  rarely  allowed  herself  in  a 
prejudice  which  prevented  her  from  doing  complete  jus- 
tice to  all. 

It  was  Miss  Sheldon's  custom  to  hold  a  weekly  meet- 
ing of  the  teq-chers  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  reports 
regarding  their  respective  pupils,  as  the  basis  of  any 
needful  action.  Emily  sat  at  these  meetings  a  timid  but 
deeply  interested  listener,  until  her  own  report  was  called 
for.  She  would  then  characterize  all  of  whom  she  had 
occasion  to  speak  with  such  clearness  and  discrimination 
that  her  judgment  commanded  implicit  deference,  and  all 
felt  that  her  powers  of  imaginative  delineation  were  fully 
equaled  by  those  of  the  practical  observer.  The  Misses 
Sheldon  came  to  rely  on  Miss  Chubbuck  more  and  more, 
both  in  the  instruction  and  discipline  of  the  school.  She 
could  not  be  anywhere  without  being  a  power.  A  char- 
acter at  once  positive  and  gentle,  at  once  spirited  and 
amiable,  at  once  poetic  and  practical,  at  once  energetic 
and  even  tenderly  feminine,  made  a  combination,  not 
perhaps  very  unusual,  but  exhibited  in  her  certainly  in  a 
very  rare  degree. 

A  change,  however,  was  approaching  of  much  import- 
ance to  the  institution,  and  of  deep  interest  to  Emily. 
The  happy  household  of  which  she  was  a  member  waa 
about  to  be  invaded  by  that  Foe  that  is  the  more  for- 
midable as  he  finds  a  sure  cooperator  within  the  cita- 
del. The  accomplished  head  of  the  institution  was 
to  pass  from  the  post  of  the  principal  of  a  flourish- 
ing female   school,  to   that   of   assistant   principal   of 


76  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

a  more  celebrated — ^if  not  more  interesting — ^institu- 
tion. Miss  Urania  Sheldon  was  about  to  become  the 
wife  of  Kev.  Dr.  Nott,  the  venerable  president  of 
Union  College.  Emily  could  not  but  anticipate  the  re- 
moval with  deep  regret.  One  of  her  most  affectionate 
friends,  and  judicious  and  faithful  counselors  was  about 
to  be  withdrawn  from  her,  and  she  half  trembled  as  to 
what  might  be  the  consequences  to  her  own  connection 
with  the  Seminary  in  the  changes  which  would  ensue,  es- 
pecially as  her  "health,"  she  says,  "is  becoming  a  source 
of  so  much  trouble  that  she  thinks  of  parting  with  it 
entirely."  Her  fears  were  groundless.  Her  position  was 
too  important  for  the  trustees  to  wish  to  disturb  it, 
and  in  Miss  Cynthia  Sheldon,  who  remained  as  the  man- 
ager of  the  school,  she  had  a  friend  whose  sterling  worth, 
whose  unwearied  and  efficient  goodness  every  year  of 
Emily's  life  only  more  fully  developed. 

In  August  the  contemplated  marriage  took  place,  and 
Miss  Sheldon  took  the  position  which  she  has  since  so 
gracefully  adorned  as  the  wife  of  Dr.  Nott.  Miss  Chub- 
buck  spent  the  summer  vacation  with  her  parents  in 
Hamilton,  and  while  there  performed  an  act  which 
showed  her  readiness,  in  meeting  the  claims  of  duty, 
to  go  to  the  utmost  limit  warranted  by  prudence. 
She  purchased  for  her  parents  the  house  and  garden 
occupied  by  them  in  the  village  for  four  hundred  dol- 
lars, the  debt  to  be  discharged  in  four  annual  pay- 
ments. It  was  an  humble  home ;  but  as  the  precious 
fruit  of  a  daughter's  love,  it  was  to  them  more  than  a 
palace  ;  and  small  as  seems  the  sum  to  the  eye  of  wide- 
grasping  wealth,  who  shall  say  that  the  favor  of  Him  who 
blessed  the  widow's  mite  did  not  rest  upon  the  offering .? 
She  subsequently  increased  her  indebtedness  by  nearly 


LIGHTS    AND   SHADES.  77 

one-lialf  of  the  original  sum,  in  repairing^and  enlarging 
the  premises.  Emily  felt  that  she  was  taking  a  step  of 
some  hazard,  and  calculating  largely  on  the  "coinable" 
capacities  of  her  brain;  hut  filial  love  could  not  take 
counsel  of  cold-blooded  prudence  in  such  a  case  ;  and 
having  indulged  in  about  the  only  kind  of  luxury  in 
which  she  ever  allowed  herself,  and  furnished  her  aged 
parents  with  a  Jiome,  she  went  back  to  Utica  with  fresh 
incentives  to  intellectual  toil. 

Near  the  close  of  the  previous  term  the  establishment 
of  a  lady's  monthly  magazine,  with  Miss  Chubbuck  for 
its  editor,  had  been  agitated  in  the  Seminary,  though 
with  a  diversity  of  opinion  as  to  its  success.  Some  be- 
lieved that  it  might  at  once  stimulate  and  draw  forth  the 
talent  of  the  young  ladies,  and  prove  a  source  of  pecuniary 
profit.  Miss  Sheldon  had  discouraged  it,  judging  cor- 
rectly of  the  numerous  and  inevitable  difficulties  of 
such  an  enterprise.  Emily,  though  not  sanguine,  in- 
chned  to  the  more  favorable  judgment,  and  "Young 
America"  prevailed.  The  magazine  was  now  established, 
with  Emily  duly  installed  as  its  editor,  and  accomplished 
probably  all  that  its  judicious  friends  could  anticipate. 
While  it  drew  forth  much  talent  from  the  school,  Miss 
Chubbuck,  of  course,  under  every  variety  of  disguise,  fig- 
ured largely  in  its  columns.  Now  a  Greek  "  maiden" — 
Kore— now  aLatin  "  nobody"— Nemo— now  a  reluctant- 
ly accepted  country  contributor— now  in  all  the  dignity  of 
the  editorial  "we,"  she  played  off  both  her  heavier  and 
lighter  artillery  on  the  pubhc.  Essays,  stories,  songs,  and 
sonnets,  now  grave,  now  gay,  Avere  thrown  off  from  her 
facile  and  fertile  pen.  The  magazine  ran  gracefully 
through  its  single  year  of  existence,  and  then  quietly 
resigned  its  breath,  having  delighted  its  friends,  edified, 


78  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

it  is  to  be  hoj^d,  the  public,  contained  much  sound  in- 
struction, sjDarkled  with  many  bright  gems  of  genius, 
and  contributed  much  to  the  reputation,  and  not  a  cent 
probably  to  the  purse  of  the  editor.  But  the  dramatic 
genius  of  Fanny  Forester  flashes  through  its  vivacious 
sketches. 

In  November  "  Allen  Lucas,  or  The  Self-made  Man," 
was  published  by  Messrs.  Bennet,  Backus  &  Hawley,  of 
Utica.  This,  like  the  preceding,  a  story  for  children,  is 
somewhat  more  elaborate  in  plan  and  execution  than 
either  of  them.  The  descriptive  power  is  greater  ;  it 
has  more  depth  of  coloring,  more  power  in  delineating 
character.  It  shows  her  advancing  with  rapid  though 
unconscious  step  toward  the  point  where  she  was  to 
dazzle  and  delight  the  public  with  those  sketches  which, 
with  their  feminine  grace  and  depth  of  sentiment,  should 
at  once  satisfy  the  mind  and  captivate  the  fancy.  Like 
the  others,  also,  "  Allen  Lucas,"  though  not  formally  re- 
ligious, was  pervaded  by  the  pure  morality  of  the  Gos- 
pel.  In  February  following,  "  John  Frink  "  was  pub- 
lished by  the  American  Baptist  Sunday  School  Union. 

Kegarded  simply  as  literary  efforts,  the  success  of 
Emily's  small  and  unpretending  books  had  greatly  sur- 
passed her  humble  expectations.  Though  scarcely  of  a 
character  to  attract  the  notice  of  the  public,  yet,  within 
the  limited  circle  which  they  would  naturally  reach,  they 
were  warmly  and  most  flatteringly  appreciated.  The 
gifted  young  lady  of  Miss  Sheldon's  school  was  becom- 
ing known  to  many  as  a  writer  of  rare  and  versatile  ca- 
pacity, who  might  yet  contribute  a  star  to  the  galaxy  of 
female  authorship.  But  though  ample  in  their  harvest 
of  praise,  her  books  brought  but  slight  returns  of  that 
commodity  which  had  given  the  chief  impulse  to  her 


LIGHTS   AND    SHADES.  79 

pen  :  she  was  getting  not  rich  with  great  rapidity.  Their 
first  flattering  reception  and  rapid  sale  had  induced  a 
reasonable  hope  of  handsome  pecuniary  returns.  She 
had  struck  a  vein  which  it  required  no  dazzled  and 
credulous  vision  to  behold  yielding  a  more  than  suffi- 
cient income  for  her  more  pressing  wants.  Prompted  by 
this  hope  she  had  sent  for  her  sister  to  the  Seminary, 
and  subsequently  made  the  large  purchase  of  a  dwelling 
for  her  parents.  From  a  variety  of  causes  her  expecta- 
tions were  not  realized.  Partly  from  general  convulsions 
in  the  business  of  the  country,  partly  from  the  remissness 
of  her  publishers,  her  books  yielded  but  a  meager  profit, 
and  some  of  them  were  for  a  considerable  time  entirely 
out  of  print.  We  need  not  enter  minutely  into  these 
perplexing  matters.  The  following  letters  to  Mrs.  Nott 
and  to  her  sister,  will  show  the  nature  of  the  difficulties 
with  which  she  struggled,  and  shed  other  side  lights  on 
this  stage  of  her  history  : — 


TO    MRS.    NOTT. 

Utica,  October  10, 1842. 

Dear,  Miss  Urania, — 

I  have  just  received  your  kind  note  by  Dr.  James,  and  al- 
tboiigh  I  wrote  you  last  evening,  find  there  are  a  few  questions 
which  I  neglected  to  answer. 

Mr.  Hawley  seemed  to  hesitate  about  the  propriety  of  trying 
to  get  the  copyright  out  of  D.  &  N.'s  hands,  and  I  shall  not 
have  an  opportunity  to  see  him  again  before  Mr.  S.  goes.  I 
heartily  wish  somebody  else  had  it,  but  do  not  know  who.  It 
would  make  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  and  involve  some  risk,  for 
me  to  hold  the  copyright ;  and  I  should  think  it  would  be  diffi- 
cult, now  that  the  chance  of  the  first  edition  is  lost,  to  dispose 
of  it  to  any  bookseller. 

Dayton  <fe  Newman  took  the  MSS.,  secured  a  copyright,  and 


80  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

agreed  to  pay  rae  ten  per  cent,  on  all  that  were  sold.  The 
percentage  is  not  increased  for  a  new  edition,  and  they  are  under 
no  obligation  to  get  out  a  new  one  at  all  unless  they  choose. 
The  first  edition  of  "Charles  Linn"  was  only  1500  copies,  and 
my  receipts  $51.  I  do  not  know  how  large  an  edition  of  "  Life 
as  It  Is"*  they  have  issued,  but  the  volume  being  larger  than 
the  other,  if  the  edition  is  equally  large,  I  shall  receive  about 
$70.  Mr.  H.  says  these  sell  well,  but  he  does  not  know  how 
many  are  sold,  and,  of  course,  he  does  not  know  how  many  re- 
main on  hand :  the  first  is  out  of  print.  The  reason  of  their 
acting  so  strangely  about  the  business  ever  since  last  fall  I 
can  not  guess.  1  wish  I  had  time  to  write  something  purposely 
for  the  district-school  library ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  shall  not. 

Many  thanks  to  you  and  your  kind  friends  for  the  interest 
you  take  in  the  affairs  of  a  simple  girl,  without  money,  without 
influence,  and  almost  without  friends. 

I  rejoice  to  find  that  you  do  not  dislike  the  Miscellany.  It 
is  just  the  kind  of  labor  that  suits  me,  and  gains  a  great  many 
compliments ;  yet  I  am  by  no  means  sanguine  concerning  its 
success.  The  number  of  subscribers  is  constantly  increas- 
ing; yet  they  come  one  by  one,  and  it  seems  to  me  rather 
slow  work.  Only  think  of  this  child's  being  compared  with 
Miss  Sedgwick  and  Miss  Mitford !  Dew-drops  are  diamonds, 
and  pinchbeck  may  well  be  taken  for  gold.  I  wish — but  no,  I 
will  take  wbat  I  can  get  thankfully,  tkough  the  best  compliment 
I  ever  received  was  my  father's  sitting  up  till  midnight  to  finish 
"  Life  as  It  Is."  I  have  a  magazine,  containing  a  notice  of  this 
last,  which  I  will  send  you. 

I  am  very  much  ashamed  of  this  careless  note,  but  I  have 
written  to-day  till  my  shoulder  aches  and  my  hand  cramps.  As 
for  good  pens,  you  know  Lydia\  has  gone.  Please  write  after 
Dr.  Potter  has  seen  the  books,  and  advise  me  what  to  do  about 

*  The  same  as  the  "  Great  Secret." 

f  Miss  LiUybridge,  then  a  pupil  in  the  Seminary,  and  subsequently  one 
of  the  companions  of  her  voyage  to  India. 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADES.  81 

them  ;    for   I  do  not   think  is   altogether   disinterested 

(I  may  be  wrong  there),  and  you  well  know  how  little  I  am 
qualified  to  judge.     Yours  truly,  Emily. 

TO    MRS.    NOTT. 

Utioa  Female  Seminaby,  October,  1842. 

My  Dear  M— — 

There  it  is  again !  I  can  not  write  to  "  Miss  Sheldon," 
and  I  am  sure  such  a  bashful  body  as  I  could  not  be  expected 
to  address  so  dignified  a  personage  as  Mrs.  Nott.  So  what 
shall  I  do  ?  I  am  very  lonely  just  now,  and  feel  inclined  to  be 
somewhat  sentimental ;  for  I  have  been  up  the  hall,  and  found 
a  certain  corner  room,  looking — not  desolate — O  no,  it  is  won- 
drous cozy  and  comfortable — but  as  though  it  ought  to  be  des- 
olate.    Yet  I  will  spare  you  all  the  things  I  could  say,  and  turn 

to  some  other  subject.  -  F and  I  are  exceedingly  quiet  and 

happy  together,  and  as  for  the  rest  of  the  house,  things  seem  to 
go  about  right ;  at  least  when  I  put  my  head  out  into  the  hall 
I  see  nothing  to  the  contrary.  One  new  boarder  has  'come  to- 
day, and  I  hope  the  number  will  increase.  I  find  the  much 
dreaded  task  of  giving  out  composition  subjects  not  so  bad  after 
all,  though  I  should  not  like  a  spectator  any  better  than  for- 
merly. 

I  am  very  grateful  for  the  interest  you  took  in  my  affairs 
when  in  New  York,  aixl  should  of  course  be  but  too  ready  to 
avail  myself  of  any  thing  that  Dr.  Potter  was  willing  to  do  in 
my  behalf.  I  think  D.  &  N.  act  very  strangely ;  for  Mr.  H. 
says  they  told  him  that  the  second  edition  of  "Charles  Linn" 
was  in  press  several  weeks  ago.  It  has  been  out  of  print  for  a 
long  time,  and  Mr.  H.  says  he  has  had  a  great  many  calls  for 
it.  I  was  obliged  to  take  the  copy  belonging  to  tie  library  to 
send  to  you,  for  I  could  get  no  other.  It  can  be  replaced  if  the 
second  edition  ever  appears.  I  have  marred  both  books  by 
corrections ;  but  that  is  the  fault  of  the  most  careless  of  all 
proof-readers.     The  publishers  own  the  copy-right,  and  if  it 

4* 


82  LIFE   OF  MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

could  be  obtained  I  do  not  tbink  it  would  pay  for  tbe  trouble. 
Placing  tbe  books  in  tbe  district-scbool  library  migbt,  by  creat- 
ing a  demand  for  tbem,  induce  tbe  publisbers  to  bring  out  a  new 
edition ;  but  I  suspect  tbat  tbey  bave  about  bad  tbeir  day,  and 
am  content  to  let  tbem  pass.  Tbere  is  but  one  tbing  that  would 
induce  me  ever  to  see  another  line  of  mine  in  print,  and  that  is, 
tbe  necessity  which  is  the  mother  not  only  of  invention,  but  of 
many  follies.  If  I  were  in  other  circumstances  I  should  un- 
doubtedly be  a  scribbler,  but  not  a  professed  one. 

I  bave  not  told  you  what  (perhaps  unwise)  thing  I  did  dur- 
ing vacation.  My  poor  old  father  and  mother  have  had  no 
home  for  about  five  years,  and  they  bave  felt  their  lack  of  one 
severely.  I  hesitated,  measured  my  own  resources,  that  is,  my 
bead  and  hands,  and  made  a  very  humble  purchase  for  which  I 
am  allowed  four  years  to  pay.  I  am  sure  you  would  not  think 
the  act  unwarranted  if  you  could  see  how  happy  it  made  them ; 
and  if  I  fail  to  pay,  it  is  but  to  fail.  Kate  is  at  home,  quite  well 
and  happy. 

I  have  not  heard  from  Philadelphia  since  I  wrote  that  I  could 
not  prepare  that  short  Sunday-school  series.  I  suspect  that  tbey 
can  not  publish  for  lack  of  funds.  As  soon  as  I  get  time  I  mean 
to  commence  a  new  book ;  but  I  hardly  know  whether  to  write 
one  of  the  same  character  as  the  others,  or  something  different ; 
for  I  do  not  know  how  it  could  be  published.  However,  I  shall 
not  waste  much  time  in  deciding. 

I  know  this  is  a  very  tiresome  sheet,  and  brirafuU  of  selfish- 
ness ;  but  you  will  know  how  to  pass  that  over,  for  you  have 
looked  away  into  the  writer's  heart  and  will  expect  tbe  fruit  to 
resemble  the  tree. 

F.  sits  studying  close  by ;  somebody  is  thumping  Miss  F.'s 
piano  over  our  head  tremendously ;  M.  B.  is  passing  the  door — 
there  !  the  bell  rings — study-hour  is  over ;  tbere  is  a  general  in- 
crease of  sound  in  the  bouse,  and  I  kaow  by  the  voices  in  the  hall 
that  many  a  door  has  been  flung  open  within  the  last  half  minute. 
How  I  wish — but  no,  there  is  no  use  in  wishing !     I  will  go  to 


LIGHTS    AND    SHADES.  83 

bed  and  dream  (I  have  few  day-dreams  now)  of  pleasant  tilings, 
and  wake  in  the  morning  and  see  every  thing  pleasant ;  for  this 
is  a  happy  world  in  spite  of  its  perplexities.  Fine  dreams  to 
you  too,  both  waking  and  sleeping ;  yet  now  and  then  inter- 
mingling may  there  come  a  little  (thougli  it  were  the  least  in 
the  world)  thought  of 

Your  truly  affectionate  Emily. 

TO    MBS.    NOTT. 

TJtica,  November,  1842. 

My  Dear  Mrs.  Nott, — 

It  is  a  splendid  morning,  and  if  I  had  not  my  bed  to  make 
and  my  floor  to  sweep,  and  all  tliis  sea  of  papers  which  escaped 
from  my  portfolio  last  night  when  I  was  so  sleepy,  to  pick  up, 
I  should  undoubtedly  write  some  poetry  about  the  golden  clouds 
hovering  above  the  Deerfield  hills,  and  the  broad  sheets  of  sil- 
ver— (^.  e.,  thinly  scattered  snow  just  a  little  bit  tipped  with 
sun-light) — now  and  then  peering  out  through  the  openings. 
But  beds  and  floors  are  very  arbitrary  things,  and  never  would 
think  of  stopping  getting  tumbled  or  dirty,  though  the  poetical 
world  should  suffer  ever  so  much  thereby. 

I  should  have  written  you  before  about  Mr.  Hawley's  negoti- 
ations in  New  York,  but  I  have  been  expecting  every  day  that 
Miss  Cynthia  would  write  and  tell  you  all  about  it.  Dayton  & 
Newman  will  let  me  have  the  copy-right  of  the  two  books  for  a 
hundred  dollars,  fifty  dollars  apiece.  Now  as  I  could  have  had 
it  for  a  mere  trifle  a  year  ago  when  the  manuscript  was  in  my 
own  hands,  and  as  they  have  had  the  advantage  of  a  whole 
edition,  of  course  making  the  right  less  valuable,  I  do  not  feel 
inclined  to  accept  the  offer.  Besides,  it  would  not  be  a  very 
pleasant  thing,  even  if  I  were  sure  of  making  money  by  it,  to 
hold  the  copy-right  myself,  and  have  the  books  printed ;  and 
disposing  of  it  otherwise  is  in  the  present  case  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. They  say  that  they  can  sell  it  for  more  than  fifty  dollars 
to  publishers  in  New  York.     So,  assuming  that!  could  dispose 


84  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

of  it  for  ten  or  twenty  dollars  more,  it  would  be  of  little  use,  as 
I  should  cut  myself  off  from  the  percentage  which  I  am  now  to 
receive.  They  promise  to  republish  "Charles  Linn"  before 
January ;  but  I  shall  not  depend  much  upo:ri  any  profit  from 
either  of  the  books. 

According  to  your  suggestions  I  have  commenced  a  new  book 
designed  exclusively  for  district  schools,  but  I  have  written  as 
yet  only  about  a  dozen  pages.  My  time  seems  completely  oc- 
cupied, and  though  I  have  prepared  and  laid  aside  copy  enough 
for  two  numbers  of  the  Miscellany,  yet  there  are  little  hinderances 
constantly  arising  to  prevent  me  from  accomplishing  any  thing. 
However,  I  shall  do  what  I  can,  and  hope  to  finish  something 
by  the  middle  of  next  term. 

The  very  flattering  compliments  which  I  received  from 
Schenectady  a  few  days  ago  encouraged  me  not  a  little.  You 
can  not  imagine  how  they  lightened  my  heavy  foot,  and 
straightened  my  bent  shoulders.  I  need  not  say,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Nott,  how  grateful  I  feel  for  all  the  interest  you  take  in  my  little 
affairs,  for  you  must  know  it  all,  must  know  that  I  could  not 
feel  otherwise.  And  now — and  now  for  a  little  more  motherly 
counsel — ^but  I  have  no  room,  and  "  there  is  time  enough  yet." 
Yours  truly, 

Emily. 

to  her  sister. 

Utica,  Monday  morning,  November,  184S. 

Dear  Kitty, — 

A  letter  which  I  supposed  had  reached  you  more  than  a 
week  ago  has  just  returned  on  my  hands,  aod  I  suppose,  there- 
fore, you  must  by  this  time  be  wanting  to  hear  from  me.  .  . 
Tell  father  there  is  but  little  hope  of  getting  any  money  just 
now  toward  my  payment  on  the  place,  but  he  must  not  be  dis- 
couraged. I  expect  a  windfall  of  some  sort  or  other,  though  I 
can  not  for  the  life  of  me  tell  what,  or  where  it  is  to  come 
from. 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADES.  85 

"  The  darkest  day, 
(Live  till  to-morrow),  will  have  passed  awayl" 

I  have  received  the  first  proof-sheets  of  "  Allen  Lucas  :"  they 
are  doing  it  handsomely,  and  intend  to  have  it  out  by  Christmas. 
I  wish  I  could  strike  upon  some  plan  for  money-making  to  help 
us  out  of  this  difiiculty ;  but  nH  importe, "  every  dog  must  have  his 
day,"  and  ours  -will  come  by-and-by.  I  hope  you  are  well,  and 
behaving  well.  I  do  not  know,  Kitty,  what  has  got  into  me 
lately.  I  dream  of  home  every  night,  and  awak^  in  the  morn- 
ing— and  so  disappointed  and  lonely.  But  every  thing  is  pleas- 
ant here,  and  we  are  all  like  sisters  to  each  other — we  teachers, 
I  mean.  It  does  seem  too  bad,  though,  that  poor  I  must  always 
be  away.  There  are  so  few  of  us,  too — how  comfortable  and 
happy  a  few  hundreds  would  make  us ! — the  hundreds  which 
some  are  spen'ding  so  carelessly.  Write  me  every  thing,  do  ! 
Your  homesick  sister, 

Emily. 

Utica  Female  Seminary,  January  4, 1843. 

My  Dear  Mrs.  Nott, — 

The  "  blind  harper"  has  been  entertaining  us  this  evening, 
and  those  simple  airs  are  of  all  things  the  "  open  sesame"  to  the 
heart.  While  listening  I  have  been  back,  not  many  years,  it  is 
true,  but  in  the  review  singularly  long,  over  the  whole  ground 
of  my  past  life,  visited  every  nook,  sat  down  awhile  by  every 
friend,  and  acted  over  again  what  distance  has  robbed  of  almost 
all  its  bitterness. 

Tuesday^  January  7.  I  was  interrupted  on  Saturday  even- 
ing ;  so  you  are  relieved  of  the  "  association  of  ideas"  which 
brought  me  up  to  the  time  of  my  first  landing  in  Utica,  not  quite 
"friendless  and  homeless,"  but  certainly  very  forlorn.  Well, 
you  oan  judge  from  that  of  whom  I  last  thought,  but  not  how 
pleasant  were  those  thoughts ;  for  even  you  can  not  comprehend 
all  you  have  done  for  me,  nor  how  unwilling  I  should  be  to  be 
able  to  say,  "  I  owe  her  nothing."     But  let  that  pass ;  however 


86  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

much  the  subject  may  be  in  my  thoughts,  I  know  you  will  not 
care  to  hear  it  talked  of,  so  I  will  turn  to  other  topics. 

The  school  this  term  is  very  pleasant.  There  is  no  one  to 
head  mischief  among  the  young  ladies,  so  they  are  all  remark- 
ably correct.  True,  we  feel  a  lack  of  something ;  but  that  can 
not  be  helped,  and  I  believe  in  all  cases  the  true  philosophy  is 
to  "  take  it  easy." 

And  now  for  myself; — egotism  is  pardonable  in  a  letter.  I 
am  doing  just  nothing  this  term,  and  am  as  busy  about  it  as 
though  I  was'  servant-general  to  the  whole  world.  You  know  I 
never  had  much  time  to  read ;  I  have  taken  the  matter  in  hand 
now,  and  hope  I  shall  make  something  of  that,  if  nothing  else, 
I  have  not  written  a  line  of  poetry  this  term ;  for,  saith  the  poet 
Sands, 

"  Thou  who  with  the  eagle's  wing, 
Being  a  goose,  wouldst  fly,  dream  not  of  such  a  thing ;" 

a  caution  worth  observing.  My  district  school  book 'stands 
right  where  I  left  it  last  term,  ^nd  I  have  not  the  courage  to 
touch  it.  I  can  not  write  as  I  could  before  people  expected  me 
to  succeed ;  and  when  I  now  take  up  the  pen  I  feel  the  same 
embarrassment  that  I  do  before  company.  I  do  not  say  this, 
for  people  would  consider  it  affectation  ;  but  I  feel  it  none  the 
less,  while  making  other  excuses.  You  may  tell  me  that  it  is 
foolish  to  feel  so  about  those  simple  little  books  that  nobody  but 
children  reads,  and  sometimes  I  try  to  laugh  myself  out  of  it  in 
the  same  way.  But  I  care  more  for  my  small  circle  of  friends 
than  for  a  hundred  critics,  and  they,  if  nobody  else,  read  them. 
I  heartily  wish  I  had  never  touched  a  pen  but  to  write  letters ; 
may  be  then  I  should  have  been  more  expert  in  this  line.  Mary 
comes  to  say  that  a  man  wishes  to  see  me  in  the  hall.  It  is  the 
printer  after  copy,  no  doubt ;  so  my  letter  must  have  another 
beginning. 

Saturday/  morning.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sheldon  are  going  this 
morning,  and  I  have  concluded  to  send  this  by  them,  if  you  will 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADES.  87 

excuse  its  age.  I  heard  from  home  yesterday;  I  am  afraid  my 
poor  old  father  is  failing,  and  will  be  before  long  confined  en- 
tirely  to   the   house.     The   rest   of  the   family  are   in  usual 

health 

The  little  Sabbath  school  book  that  I  sent  to  Philadelphia 
last  summer  is  in  print.  There  are  sixty  pages,  for  which  they 
have  paid  me  thirty  dollars.  Do  please  write  to  me  at  your 
first  leisure,  and  believe  me,  with  the  greatest  affection  and 
respect. 

Yours  truly, 

Emily  E.  Chubbuck. 

The  allusion  in  the  following  letter  is  to  Mr.  William 
Miller,  formerly  of  Hampton,  Washington  county,  the 
celebrated  lecturer  on  the  millennium,  and  originator  of 
the  "heresy."  known  as  "Millerism."  The  sensation 
which  he  produced  will  be  remembered  by  many.  Had 
Miss  Chubbuck  heard  more  of  his  lectures,  her  sound 
judgment  must  have  confirmed  her  estimate  of  the  vis- 
ionary character  of  his  views. 


TO    HER    SISTER. 

Utica,  January  18, 1843. 

Dear  Kit, — 

The  Miscellany  is  very  late  this  month,  but  I  expect  it  out 
to-morrow.  Have  not  yet  heard  from  New  York.  There  is  an 
article  on  neurology  in  the  Democratic  Review  which  I  wish 
Wallace  to  read.  I  begin  to  believe  in  it ;  it  is  no  more  mys- 
terious than  our  breathing  and  thinking.  All  is  mystery,  and 
if  we  believe  in  nothing  which  we  can  not  comprehend,  we  may 
as  well  go  back  to  the  scholastic  philosophy,  or  disbelieve  the 
existence  of  matter.  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Nott  were  here  when  I  came 
back,  and  we  had  a  delightful  visit.  Did  Wallace  write  the  no- 
tice of  Dr.  N.'s  lecture  in  the  Whig  ?    It  was  capital. 

I  understand  that  Mr.  Miller  (he  left  town  yesterday  morn- 


88  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

ing)  has  created  quite  a  sensation  in  tlie  city.  One  mercliant 
has  dismissed  his  clerks,  and  shut  up  his  shop.  We  do  not 
know  much  about  it  in  the  Seminary,  but  I  learn  that  some 
families  are  nearly  crazy.  I  went  to  hear  him  once,  and  must 
own  that  I  was  a  good  deal  disappointed.  He  was  more  vis- 
ionary than  I  expected  to  find  him.  However,  they  say  that  hi? 
lectures  are  characterized  by  sound  reasoning  and  good  common 
sense,  and  that  positions  in  which  I  thought  him  visionary  he 
had  previously  established.  He  is  evidently  sincere  and  very 
pious,  and — deluded  or  not — I  would  rather  be  in  his  place  than 
in  that  of  those  who  sneer  at  him.  I  do  not  wonder  that  wicked 
men  do  it,  but  I  think  it  awful  in  ministers. 

My  plants  thrive  beautifully.  I  have  commenced  an  article, 
"  Our  Village,"  for  Wallace,  but  do  not  know  that  I  can  finish 
it ;  I  get  so  little  time.  Can't  write  his  story,  "  no  how."  Don't 
expect  ever  to  get  my  book  done. 

Monday  morning.  Have  been  sick,  but  am  a  good  deal 
better.  I  am  pretty  much  discouraged  about  earning  any  things 
but  don't  care  much.  What  is  the  use  of  money  when  one  has 
enough  to  eat,  drink,  and  wear,  as  I  am  sure  I  have  ?  The  com- 
mercial article  in  the  Democratic  Review  predicts  a  change  of 
times  in  the  spring — hope  it  will  be  verified.  Write,  do^  immc- 
mediately  to 

Your  very  loving  sister, 

Emily. 

to  mrs.  nott. 

Utica,  November,  1843. 

Dear  Mrs.  Nott, — 

The  girls  are  about  starting,  so  I  have  only  time  to  say, 
How  do  you  do?  and  good-bye.  We  closed  up  last  night,  and 
to-day  are  feeling  exceedingly  free.  To-morrow  I  leave  for 
home.  Delightful  thing — a  stage-coach  ride  in  this  mud ! 
"  The  Self-Made  Man"  made  his  appearance  yesterday,  and  I 
inclose  you  a  copy.  You  must  wink  as  you  read,  but  I  shall 
not  trouble  myself  about  that ;  you  have  seen  the  like  a  time  or 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADES.  89 

two  before,  and  would  not  undertake  to  read  witli  your  eyes 
open.  I  should  feel  complimented  by  some  of  tlie  little  news- 
paper pufls  if  I  did  not  happen  to  know  that  the  writers  of 
them  could  not  have  read  the  book.  So  if  you  see  them,  esti- 
mate them  at  their  proper  worth.  Please  remember  me  to  the 
doctor,  if  he  would  recollect  me,  and  believe  me, 
Yours  ever  and  truly, 

Emily. 

Miss  Sheldon's  marriage  had  made  no  change  in 
Miss  Chuhbuck's  relations  to  the  Seminary.  Her  sister, 
Miss  Cynthia,  whose  energy  of  character  was  equaled 
only  by  her  benevolence,  remained  its  ei^ecutive  and 
financial  head,  hiring  the  teachers  and  superintending 
the  departments.  From  the  first  she  had  been  Emily's 
zealous  and  efficient  friend,  and  she  continued  those 
offices  of  affection  which,  never  intermitted,  were  repaid 
by  Emily  with  answering  gratitude  and  love.  During 
about  two  years  after  Miss  Sheldon's  marriage,  the  post 
of  literary  principal  was  held  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James 
Nichols,  Mrs.  Nichols  having,  previously  to  her  marriage, 
been  a  valuable  associate  teacher  in  the  school.  Mrs. 
Nichols'  health  requiring  their  withdrawal,  in  February, 
1844,  Miss  Jane  Kelly  was  appointed  t©  this  office.  She 
was  seized,  however,  with  a  violent  illness,  and  new  duties 
were  now  devolved  upon  Emily.  Her  literary  avocations 
were  suspended,  and  besides  taking  some  extra  classes,  she 
"  tried  her  hand  at  government  and  peace-making."  On 
Miss  Kelly's  recovery,  she  gladly  laid  down  her  honors, 
and  returned  to  her  manuscripts.  But  her  manuscripts, 
it  is  seen  by  the  above  letters,  had  but  illy  requited  her 
toil,  and  her  first  hopes  had  been  sadly  dashed.  Diffi- 
culties crowded  upon  her.  The  debts  which  she  had  in- 
curred hung  upon  her  as  a  heavy  weight ;  and  the  expe- 


90  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

dients  to  which  the  desperate  state  of  her  affairs  drove 
her  proved  mostly  failures.  Her  articles  sent  to  different 
journals  were  returned,  or  thrown  silently,  and  probably 
unread,  under  the  editor's  table.  Nothing  but  the  irre- 
pressible buoyancy  of  a  most  elastic  nature  prevented  her 
heart  from  utterly  sinking  within  her,  and  it  needed  all 
the  encouragements  of  sympathizing  friendship,  and  all 
the  stimulus  of  necessity  to  prevent  her  from  renouncing 
for  ever  the  baffling  pursuits  of  authorship.  Her  hour, 
however,  was  coming,  and,  as  a  prelude,  she  at  this  time 
was  engaged  as  a  contributor  to  the  Columbian  Maga- 
zine, then  ^nder  the  editorial  care  of  John  Inman,  at 
four  dollars  per  page.  "Yet  this  was  little,  and  other 
means  were  imperatively  demanded  to  meet  her  pressing 
wants. 

In  April  she  made  a  trip  to  New  York  with  Miss  Anna 
Maria  Anable,  with  whom  she  had  been  gradually  form- 
ing a  closer  intimacy.  The  origin  of  their  friendship  was 
characteristic  of  her  loving  nature.  Of  a  larger  worldly 
experience,  and  more  at  home  in  general  society,  Miss 
Anable  had  regarded  indeed  with  interest  her  character 
and  genius,  but  scarcely  thought  of  opening  to  her  the 
inner  sanctuary  of  her  affections.  As  they  chanced,  one 
day,  to  be  sitting  together  on  the  sofa,  and  the  conversa- 
tion drifted  toward  some  matters  of  personal  interest, 
Emily,  turning  her  dark  eye  upon  her  friend,  said  half- 
playfully,  half-beseechingly  :  "I  wish  you  would  let  me 
love  you."  The  words  struck  a  responsive  chord  in  the 
heart  of  her  young  companion.  She  did  let  her  love  her, 
and  drew  her  into  an  embrace  which,  in  spite  of  time 
and  distance,  grew  closer  and  closer  through  all  the  check- 
ered and  eventful  future.  They  became  fast  friends,  with 
likeness  enough  to  give  sympathy,  with  diversity  enough 


LIGHTS   AND   SHADES.  91 

give  zest  to  their  companionsliip.  Highly  gifted,  yet 
not  addicted  to  authorship  herself,  Miss  Anable,  her 
name  curtailed  of — all  but — its  fair  proportions,  was 
obliged,  as  "  Cousin  'Bel,"  to  esquire  her  friend''s  literary 
knight-errantry.  They  now  went  together  to  New  York. 
It  was  Miss  Chubbuck's  first  visit  to  the  metropolis  ;  all 
about  her  was  stamped  with  novelty,  and  the  fresh  glow 
of  youth  and  conscious  genius  and  half  dawning  fame, 
which  shed  its  delicious  light  upon  her  heart,  invested 
the  scenes  of  the  great  city  with  a  magic  charm. 

Whether  Emily  really  saw  in  Broadway  the  "balza- 
rines"  and  "  neapolitans"  which  figure  in  the  next  scene 
of  our  narrative  we  need  not  curiously  inquire,  since 
a  young  lady  author's  playful  epistle  is  no  more  than 
the  poems  of  Homer,  to  be  held  to  the  rigorous  verities 
of  history.  Be  that  as  it  may,  this  scene  forcibly  re- 
minds us  on  how  slender  and  casual  a  thread  may  hang 
the  weightiest  destinies — with  how  unconscious  and  un- 
divining  a  step  we  may  enter  a  path  which  shall  direct 
the  whole  future  of  our  lives.  A  playful  word  often 
issues  in  serious  earnest ;  the  comedy  of  to-day  deepens 
into  the  tragedy  of  to-morrow  ;  a  thread,  light  as  a 
spider's  web,  carried  across  a  chasm,  initiates  the  pro- 
cess which  will  span  it  with  a  bridge  that  shall  abide 
the  shock  of  centuries. 


chapteh  yii. 


"Her  every  tone  is  music's  own, 

Like  those  of  morning  birds  ; 
And  something  more  than  melody 

Dwells  ever  in  her  words. 
The  coinage  of  her  heart  are  they ; 

And  from  her  lips  each  flows, 
As  one  may  see  the  burdened  bee, 

Forth  issuing  jfrom  the  rose." 

The  Evening  llirror  was  at  this  time  flourishing  in 
New  York,  under  the  editorial  conduct  of  Messrs.  G-eo. 
P.  Morris  and  N.  P.  Willis.  In  June,  after  her  return, 
while  the  splendors  of  the  metropolis  were  still  fresh  in 
her  fancy,  with  her  own  timid  figure  stealing  along 
Broadway  beside  that  of  her  more  world-experienced 
friend,  Emily,  in  an  hour  of  frolic  sportiveness,  addressed 
a  letter,  half-playful,  half-serious,  to  these  gentlemen,  in- 
timating her  great  desire  to  become  the  possessor  of  one 
of  those  balzarines  and  neapolitans  which  the  shops  of 
Broadway  paraded  in  tempting  luxuriousness,  and  deli- 
cately hinting  that  she  would  like  to  make  the  columns 
of  the  Mirror  the  means  of  procuring  the  funds  which 
the  shopkeepers  were  impertinent  enough  to  ask  in  ex- 
change for  their  commodities.  The  letter  purported  to 
come  from  a  country  maiden  making  a  brief  sojourn  in 
the  city,  and  bore  the  suggestive  signature  of  Fanny 


"fanny  forester/'  93 

Forester.  Its  elegant  playfulness  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  editors  of  the  Mirror.  "  The  dip  of  their 
divining  rod/'  as  Mr.  Willis  felicitously  expressed  it, 
"  detected  the  neighborhood  of  genius."  They  saw  under 
its  light  and  sportive  garb  indications  of  a  vigor  and 
force  of  intellect  that  might  raise  their  possessor  to  a 
high  place  in  the  walks  of  literature.  They  were  indeed 
a  little  mystified  by  the  letter,  and  at  a  loss  to  determine 
whether  the  writer  was  really  the  naive  and  unsophis- 
ticated child  of  nature  that  she  gave  herself  out  for, 
wantoning  in  the  creations  of  a  genius  that  was  just  re- 
vealing itself  to  her  virgin  consciousness,  or  a  veteran 
and  wily  sj)inster,  a  practiced  magazinist,  who  had 
trained  herself  to  that  last  perfection  of  art  which  shows 
as  perfect  artlessness.  The  correspondence  forms  so  im- 
portant a  turning-point  in  Emily's  career,  and  so  strik- 
ingly illustrates  her  peculiar  talents,that  although  familiar 
to  many  readers,  I  shall  make  no  apology  for  inserting  it 
here,  along  with  Mr.  Willis'  graceful  introduction  : 

New  Mirror,  June  8, 1844. 

"  We  are  fortunate  in  a  troop  of  admirable  contributors,  who 
write  for  love,  not  money — love  being  the  only  commodity  in 
which  we  can  freely  acknowledge  ourselves  rich.  We  receive, 
however,  all  manner  of  tempting  propositions  from  those  who 
wish  to  write  for  the  other  thing — money — and  it  pains  us 
grievously  to  say,  *  No ;'  though,  truth  to  say,  love  gets  for  us 
as  good  things  as  money  could  buy — our  readers  will  cheerfully 
agree.  But  yesterday,  on  opening  at  the  office  a  most  dainty 
epistle,  and  reading  it  fairly  through,  we  confess  our  pocket 
stirred  within  us !  More  at  first  than  afterward — ^for,  upon  re- 
flection, we  became  doubtful  whether  the  writer  were  not  old 
and  *  blue,'  it  was  so  exceedingly  well  done.     We  have  half  a 


94  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

suspicion  now  that  it  is  some  sharp  old  maid  in  spectacles — 
some  regular  contributor  to  Godey  and  Graham,  who  has  tried 
to  inveigle  us  through  our  weak  point — possibly  some  varlet  of 
a  man  scribbler — but  no;  it  is  undeniably  feminine.  Let  us 
show  you  the  letter — the  latter  part  of  it  at  least,  as  it  opens  too 
honiedly  for  print : — " 

You  know  the  shops  in  Broadway  are  very  tempting  this 
spring.  Such  beautiful  things!  Well,  you  know  (no,  you  don't 
know  that,  but  you  can  guess)  what  a  delightful  thing  it  would 
be  to  appear  in  one  of  those  charming,  head-adorning  complex- 
ion-softening, hard-feature -subduing  neapolitans  ;  with  a  little 
gossamer  vail  dropping  daintily  on  the  shoulder  of  one  of  those 
exquisite  balzarines,  to  be  seen  any  day  at  Stewart^s  and  else- 
where. Well,  you  know,  (this  you  must  know,)  that  shopkeepers 
have  the  impertinence  to  demand  a  trifling  exchange  for  these 
things  even  of  a  lady;  and  also  that  some  people  have  a  remark- 
ably small  purse,  and  a  remarkably  small  portion  of  the  yellow 
"  root"  in  that.  And  now,  to  bring  the  matter  home,  /  am  one 
of  that  class.  I  have  the  most  beautiful  little  purse  in  the 
world,  but  it  is  only  kept  for  show ;  I  even  find  myself  under 
the  necessity  of  counterfeiting — that  is,  filling  the  void  with 
tissue  paper  in  lieu  of  bank  notes,  preparatory  to  a  shopping 
expedition. 

Well,  now  to  the  point.  As  Bel  and  I  snuggled  down  on 
the  sofa  this  morning  to  read  the  I^ew  Mirror  (by  the  way, 
Cousin  Bel  is  never  obliged  to  put  tissue  paper  in  her  purse), 
it  struck  us  that  you  would  be  a  friend  in  need,  and  give  good 
counsel  in  this  emergency.  Bel,  however,  insisted  on  my  not 
telling  what  I  wanted  the  money  for.  She  even  thought  that  I 
had  better  intimate  orphanage,  extreme  suff'ering  from  the  burst- 
ing of  some  speculative  bubble,  illness,  etc.,  etc. ;  but  did  not  I 
know  you  better  ?  Have  I  read  the  Neio  Mirror  so  much  (to 
say  nothing  of  the  graceful  things  coined  "  under  a  bridge,"  and 
a  thousand  other  pages  flung  from  the  inner  heart),  and  not 


"fanny  forester."  95 

learned  who  has  an  eye  for  every  thing  pretty  ?     Not  so  stupid, 
Cousin  Bel ;  no,  no  ! 

However,  this  is  not  quite  the  point,  after  all ;  but  here  it  is. 
I  have  a  pen — not  a  gold  one,  I  don't  think  I  could  write  with 
that,  but  a  nice,  little,  feather-tipped  pen,  that  rests  in  the  curve 
of  my  finger  as  contentedly  as  in  its  former  pillow  of  down. 
(Shocking !  how  that  line  did  run  down  hill !  and  this  almost  as 
crooked !  dear  me  !)  Then  I  have  little  messengers  racing  "  like 
mad"  through  the  galleries  of  my  head ;  spinning  long  yarns, 
and  wearing  fabrics  rich  and  soft  as  the  balzarine  which  I  so 
much  covet,  until  I  shut  my  eyes  and  stop  my  ears  and  whisk 
away,  with  the  'wonderful  lamp'  safely  hidden  in  my  own 
brown  braids.  Then  I  have  Dr.  Johnson's  Dictionary — capital 
London  edition,  etc.,  etc. ;  and  after  I  use  up  all  the  words  in 
that,  I  will  supply  myself  with  Webster's  wondrous  quarto,  ap- 
pendix and  all.  Thus  prepared,  think  you  not  I  should  be  able 
to  put  something  in  the  shops  of  the  literary  caterers  ?  some- 
thing that,  for  once  in  my  life  would  give  me  a  real  errand  into 
Broadway  ?  May  be  you  of  the  New  Mirror  pay  for  acceptable 
articles — may  be  not.      Comprenez-vous  ? 

01  do  hope  that  beautiful  balzarine  like  Bel's  will  not  be 
gone  before  another  Saturday  !  You  will  not  forget  to  answ^' 
me  in  the  next  Mirror  ;  but  pray,  my  dear  Editor,  let  it  be  done 
very  cautiously,  for  Bel  would  pout  all  day  if  she  should  know 
what  I  have  written.     Till  Saturday, 

Your  anxiously-waiting  friend, 

Fanny  Forester. 

"Well,  we  give  in !  On  condition  that  you  are  under  twenty- 
five,  and  that  you  will  wear  a  rose  (recognizably)  in  your  bodice 
the  first  time  you  appear  in  Broadway  with  the  hat  and  balza- 
rine, we  will  pay  the  bills.  Write  us  thereafter  a  sketch  of 
Bel  and  yourself,  as  cleverly  done  as  this  letter,  and  you  may 
'  snuggle  down'  on  the  sofa,  and  consider  us  paid,  and  the  public 
charmed  with  you." 


96  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

Miss  "  Forester's  "  reply  to  this  appeared  in  the  New 
Mirror  of  June  29th,  prefaced  by  the  editor  as  follows  : 
"  Our  readers  will  remember  in  the  Mirror  of  two  weeks 
ago,  a  very  clever  letter,  written  to  us^by  an  anony- 
mous lady  who  wished  to  conjure  a  new  bonnet  and  dress 
out  of  her  inkstand.  The  inveiglement  upon  ourselves 
(to  induce  us  to  be  her  banker)  was  so  adroit  and  fanci- 
ful, that  we  suspected  the  writer  of  being  no  novice  at 
rhetorical  trap — one  indeed,  of  the  numerous  sisterhood 
who  scatter  their  burdensome  ammunition  of  contri- 
vance and  resource  upon  periodical  literature.  We  '  gave 
in,'  however — walking  willingly  into  the  lady's  noose,  on 
condition  that  she  should  wear  a  rose  recognizably  in 
Broadway  the  day  she  first  sported  the  balzarine  and 
neapolitan,  and  afterward  send  us  a  sketch  of  herself 
and  her  cousin.  The  ^  sketch'  we  have  received,  and  shall 
give  it  next  week,  and  when  we  have  seen  the  rose,  we 
shall  not  hesitate  to  acknowledge  the  debt.  ...  In 
the  following  parts  of  her  letter  which  accompanied  the 
sketch,  the  reader  will  see  that  the  authoress  feels  (or 
feigns  marvelously  well)  some  resentment  at  our  suspi- 
cions as  to  her  age  and  quality." 

REPLY 

To  the  Speculations  of  the  Mirror  as  to  who  and  what  the  Au- 
thor might  he. 

,  ,  .  Have  you  never  heard,  my  de — -(pardon — I  fear  it  is 
a  habit  of  mine  to  write  too  'lioniedly') — but  have  you  not 
heard  that  "  suspicion  is  a  heavy  armor,  which,  with  its  own 
weight, impedes  more  than  it  protects?"  Suspicion  is  most  as- 
suredly a  beggarly  virtue.  It  may,  now  and  then,  prevent  your 
being  "  taken  in,"  but  it  nips  you  in  the  costs  most  unmerci- 
fully.    Oh !   sharpsightedness  is  the  most   extravagantly  dear 


"fanny  forester/'  97 

whistle  which  poor  humans  ever  purchased  !  That  you  should 
suspect  me,  too,  when  I  was  opening  my  heart  away  down  to 
the  core !  How  could  you  ?  "  Inveigle  !"  No  inveigling  about 
it !  I  wanted  a  bonnet  and  dress,  and  said  so,  frankly  and  hon- 
estly. Moreover,  I  never  wrote  a  line  for  Graham  in  my  life — 
no !  nor  for  Godey  either.  As  for  couleur  des  bas,  your  keen- 
eyed  hawk  pounced  on  less  than  a  phantom  there.  From  the 
day  that  I  stood  two  mortal  hours  with  my  fingers  poked  into 
my  eyes,  and  a  fool's-cap  on  my  head,  because  I  persisted  in 
spelling  "b-a-g,  baker,"  to  the  notable  morning  of  christening 
my  cousin  by  her  profession,*  I  have  been  voted  innocent  of  all 
leaning  toward  the  hue  celestial.  Indeed,  it  is  more  than  sus- 
pected by  my  friends  (cousin  Bel  excepted)  that  I  affect  dame 
Nature's  carpet,  rather  than  her  canopy. 

May  be  I  am  "  some  varlet  of  a  man  scribbler" — Oh !  you 
are  suck  a  Yankee  at  guessing ! 

Old !  ah,  that  is  the  unkindest  cut  of  all !  You  an  editor, 
and  the  son  of  an  editor,  and  not  know  that  "  old  maids  "  are  a 
class  extinct  at  the  present  day,  save  in  the  sewing  societies,  etc., 
of  some  western  village,  subject  only  to  the  exploring  expedi- 
tions of  the  indefatigable  "  Mary  Clavers !"  Have  you  never 
heard  of  five-and-twenty's  being  a  turning  point,  and  ken  ye 
not  its  meaning?  Whj^faire  maydens  then  reverse  the  hour- 
glass of  old  gray-beard ;  and,  one  by  one,  drop  back  the  golden 
sands  that  he  has  scattered,  till,  in  five  years,  they  are  twenty 
again..  Of  course,  then,  I  must  be  "under  twenty-five;"  but 
as  a  punishment  for  your  lack  of  gallantry,  you  shall  not  know 
whether  the  sands  are  dropping  in  or  out  of  my  glass.  One 
thing,  however,  is  indisputable ;  I  am  not  "  sharp  " — my  face 
has  not  a  single  sharp  feature,  nor  my  temper  (it  is  I,  you  know, 
that  say  it)  a  sharp  corner,  nor  my  voice  a  sharp  tone.  So 
much  in  self-justification,  and  now  to  the  little  package  which 
you  hold  in  the  other  hand. 

*  The  cousin's  name  was  spelled  in  the  first  letter  Belle,  and  corrected 
by  the  editor. 

5 


98  LIFE    OF    MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

I  send  my  sketcli  in  advance,  because  I  am  afraid  consin 
Bel  and  I  miglit  not  interest  you  and  the  public  so  much  as 
we  do  ourselves  ;  and  then  how  are  we  to  "  consider  you  paid  ?" 
In  truth  I  can  not  write  clever  things.  Bel  might,  but  she 
never  tries.  Sometimes  she  plans  for  me ;  but,  somehow,  I 
never  find  the  right  words  for  her  thoughts.  They  come  into 
my  head  like  fixed  up  visitors,  and  play  "tea-party"  with  their 
baby  neighbors,  until  I  am  almost  as  much  puzzled  by  their 
strange  performances  as  the  old  woman  of  the  nursery  rhyme, 
who  was  obliged  to  call  on  her  "  little  dog  at  home  "  to  estab- 
lish her  identity.  No,  no !  I  can  not  write  cleve?'  things  ;  and 
particularly  on  the  subject  to  which  I  am  restricted ;  but  if  it 
is  the  true  sketch  that  you  would  have  for  the  sake  of  the  in- 
formation, why  here  now  it  is.  You  will  perceive  that  I  have 
been  very  particular  to  tell  you  all. 

Pray,  do  you  allow  us  caj'te  blanche  as  far  as  the  hat  and 
dress  are  concerned  ?  You  had  better  not ;  for  Bel  never 
limits  herself.  How  soon  may  we  have  them  ?  The  summer 
is  advancing  rapidly,  and  my  old  muslin  and  straw  are  unco 
shabby.  Yours,  with  all  due  afiection, 

Fanny  Forester. 

The  next  number  of  the  Mirror  contained  the  requir- 
ed sketch,  which,  under  the  guise  of  a  substitute  for  it, 
was  in  fact  a  most  spirited  and  dramatic  delineation 
of  the  assumed  character  and  relation  of  the  two  cousins. 
The  name  she  had  thus  sportively  assumed  clung  to  her, 
and  thanks  to  the  generous  praises  of  her  new  friends, 
and  her  own  merits,  Fanny  Forester  at  once  arose  on 
the  literary  horizon  a  star  of  unwonted  brilliancy.  Au- 
thenticated by  the  journal  which  led  all  others  in  the 
walks  of  strictly  elegant  literature,  she  found  for  every 
production  of  her  pen  a  listening  and  admiring  pub- 
lic.    To  the  quick  appreciation   and  timely  aid  of  Mr. 


99 

Willis  (through  whom  the  correspondence  was  mainly 
conducted)  she  felt  ever  under  the  deepest  obligation, 
and  the  sentiment  of  gratitude  and  literary  admiration 
naturally  blended  itself  with  a  warm  personal  friendship. 
He  soon  succeeded  in  unmasking  the  pretended  aspirant 
after  balzarines  and  neapolitans,  and  finding  behind  the 
light  laughing  face  a  warm  woman's  heart,  a  frail  phys- 
ical organization,  a  nature  quivering  with  the  quick  sus- 
ceptibilities of  genius,  and  all  struggling  under  a  heavy 
outward  pressure,  he  devoted  himself  to  the  cultivation 
of  her  talents  and  fame  with  a  generous  ardor,  which  she 
repaid  with  a  profound  sense  of  indebtedness  as  to  the 
"  foster-father  "  of  her  intellect.  Their  intercourse  was 
indeed  almost  wholly  impersonal.  They  never  met  ex- 
cept on  the  occasion,  nearly  a  year  later,  of  Emily's  pass- 
ing a  few  days  in  Brooklyn  on  her  return  from  Philadel- 
phia. Otherwise  their  sole  communication  was  by  letter 
from  the  beginning  of  their  friendship  to  its  close. 

How  potent  as  well  as  timely  was  the  aid  of  her  new 
friends  the  reader  will  readily  imagine.  General  Morris, 
already  a  veteran  in  literary  journalism,  was  one  of  the 
most  popular  song-writers  in  the  country.  To  Mr. 
Willis  we  do  but  simple  justice  in  saying  that,  beyond 
most  writers  of  our  country,  he  adorns  whatever  he 
touches  ;  that  without  claiming  to  fathom  the  depths  of 
philosophy,  or  yielding  often  to  the  tide  of  passion,  he 
possesses  a  certain  subtle  alchemy  of  genius,  resting  on 
a  basis  of  acute  and  just  observation,  which  transmutes 
the  most  commonplace  topic,  and  invests  it  with  grace 
and  beauty.  His  keen  vision  detects  its  most  hidden  es- 
sence and  most  curious  analogies,  and  his  mastery  of  lan- 
guage enables  him  to  embody  them  in  words  as  daintily 
delicious,  as  magically  beautiful,  as  tersely  vigorous  as 


100  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

the  thought  which  they  portray.  And  this  subtle  play 
of  fancy,  this  sorcery  of  expression,  which  condenses  into 
a  word  the  essence  of  a  paragraph,  characterizes  his  fam- 
iliar letters,  thrown  off  amidst  the  hurry  and  press  ot 
business,  no  less  than  his  more  elaborate  productions,  as 
will  be  evident  from  the  few  selections  from  his  corre- 
spondence with  Emily,  which  adorn  the  pages  of  this 
memoir.  The  eminent  services  which  he  rendered  her 
at  this  time,  (when  she  was  in  distress  and  needed  it), 
together  with  the  light  which  they  throw  upon  his  esti- 
mate of  her  character,  and  the  warmth  and  steadiness 
of  his  praises  and  friendship  up  to  the  time  of  her  leav- 
ing the  country,  will  be  my  apology  for  giving  a  few  ex- 
tracts from  his  inimitably  graceful  letters. 

Emily's  period  of  discouraged  waiting  at  the  door  of 
the  great  audience-chamber  of  the  public  was  over.  She 
was  at  once  in  the  full  flush  of  her  literary  career.  She 
almost  literally  "awoke  one  morning  and  found  herself 
famous."  The  path  to  competence  and  fame  opened  it- 
self attractively  before  her.  Ere  she  was  aware  of  it, 
ere  she  began  to  dream  of  it,  the  name  of  Fanny  For- 
ester was  echoed  through  the  country,  and  her^praises 
were  on  every  tongue.  The  timid,  trembling  girl,  who 
had  shrunk,  like  the  sensitive  plant,  from  the  breath  of 
public  notice,  dreading  the  very  applause  which  she 
courted,  was  now  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes — the  admired 
of  all  admirers.  Applications  soon  came  in  from  the 
publishers  of  the  popular  magazines  for  the  aid  of  her 
attractive  pen  and  the  prestige  of  her  name,  at  the  highest 
current  prices  in  this  department  of  literature.  Most  of 
them  she  was  compelled  to  decline.  In  October  she  en- 
gaged to  contribute  to  Graham — then,  perhaps,  the  lead- 
ing journal  of  its  class — at  -Q-ve  dollars  per  page,  and 


101 

renewed  her  connection  with  the  Columbian  on  the  same 
terms.  Between  these  two  and  the  Neio  Mirror  (which 
ahout  this  time  passed  into  a  daily)  she  mainly  divided 
her  contributions.  The  following  letters  will  need  little 
explanation  : 

TO    HER    SISTER. 
Dear  KatY, Utioa,  June  2r,  1844. 

I  have  made  an  arrangement  for  you  to  come  on  and  take 
lessons  of  Sarah  Bell  just  as  soon  as  you  can  get  ready.  School 
closes  five  weeks  from  to-morrow,  and  I  think  you  need  to  be 
here  certainly  four  weeks.  Can  you  get  ready  so  soon  ?  .  .  . 
I  have  made  the  arrangement  now,  because  there  never  will  be 
a  better  time — Wallace  being  at  home  with  mother,  and  things 
here  being  in  a  proper  train.  Come  the  last  of  next  week,  or, 
if  you  can  not  possibly  get  ready,  the  week  after ;  but  a  week 
is  invaluable  to  you.  Do  not  think  another  time  will  do  as 
well.  I  may  not  be  here  another  time ;  another  time  you  may 
not  be  able  to  leave  home.     You  must  take  lessons  to  run  a 

race  with  S . 

The  Kew  Mirror  has  just  come,  and  you  will  see  wh^t  a 
splendid  compliment  N.  P.  Willis  has  paid  me.  I  shall  not 
get  any  money,  however,  now — that  is,  from  him ;  but  it  will 
put  me  in  a  way  of  making  money  like  smoke.  All  well. 
Write  soon.     In  haste,  Nem. 

TO    MISS    ANABLE. 

Hamilton,  August  T,  1S44. 

O  Anna  Maria!  If  you  did  know  how  I  want  to  ride! 
AVhy,  I  am  actually  suffocating  for  the  want  of  a  breath  of  air. 
The  house  is  stuck  away  down,  down,  down,  and  here  I  am 
burrowed  up  in  it  without  the  possibility  of  seeing  out.  Walk, 
did  you  say  ?  O  innocent !  little  do  you  understand  your  sug- 
gestion !  Where  shall  I  go  ?  To  be  sure,  the  streets  are  like 
a  dozen  ribbons  knotted  in  the  middle ;  but  which  to  go  off 


102  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

on  !  That  is  tlie  query.  One  way  you  encounter  innumerable 
perils  in  the  shape  of  students,  another,  of  bogs,  another,  of 
barn-yards ;  all  have  their  peculiarities,  and  Kate  has  put  a  veto 
on  each  proposal  of  mine.  Besides,  I  do  not  want  to  walk ;  I 
want  to  ride.  "  Spring-halt"  has  made  me  aristocratic.  Have 
I  ridden  so  many  times  after  him  to  foot  it  now  ?  (That  blot  is 
a  tear-drop  of  the  pitying  ink.)  Tell  Miss  Cynthia,  if  she  has 
a  spark  of  love  for  me,  if  any  bowels  of  compassion,  she  will 
either  send  out  Spring-halt,  or  a  portion  of  the  needful.  And 
now,  mother-in-law,  what  more  shall  I  say?  It  is  above  sixty 
miles  from  here  to  Cooperstown,  and  fifty  to  Cherry  Valley.  I 
have  given  up  the  thought  of  going  anywhere  this  vacation,  but 
I  do  want  to  stir  here.  When  are  you  coming  ?  Do  come,  if 
you  do  not  wish  me  to  turn  into  a  pillar  of  salt.  Kitty,  you 
know,  is  like  her  bulk  in  lead  as  far  as  concerns  any  project  for 
going  out,  and  I  have  not  the  spirit  to  keep  myself  from  moping 
alone. 

Thursday^  8.  Blessings  on  ye,  Anna  Maria,  for  that  New 
Mirror.  I  thought  of  you  all  day  yesterday  while  reading  it, 
though  I  did  not  expect  such  a  nice  bit  for  myself.  We  had  a 
delightful  time  on  Saturday  part  of  the  way.  The  air  was  deli- 
ciously  fresh,  and  the  scenery  magnificent ;  but  as  evening  came 
on  it  grew  "damp,  moist,  and  unwholesome;"  the  roads  were 
rough  and  poor ;  and  Kate  was  sfck.  I  made  her  up  a  bed  on 
the  back  seat  (my  dictionary  and  shawls  for  a  pillow),  and  on 
we  came  in  some  tribulation.  It  was  amusing  enough  to  see 
the  men  gather  around  for  news  at  every  place  where  we 
stopped.  At  Boukville  (a  little  cluster  of  houses  about  as  big 
as  your  fist)  the  portico  of  the  inn  was  swarming  with  men, 
and  as  we  drew  up  a  dozen  voices  shouted,  "What*  news?" 
"  Bag  full,"  said  the  driver,  throwing  the  stuffed  mail-bag  to  a 
little  man  waiting  for  it.  "  Hurrah  for  Polk !"  broke  in  a  pert 
feminine  voice  from  one  end  of  the  portico.  "  Hurrah  for  Polk !" 
echoed  a  bull-frog  at  the  other.  Another,  very  deliberately, 
"  Hurrah  for  Harry  Clay !"    A  tall,  lean  man,  rather  sheepishly, 


103 

"Hurrah  for  Birney!"  Then  a  general  shout,  with  but  the 
variation  of  a  name,  broke  from  bar-room  and  portico,  and  all 
scrambled  off  for  the  mail,  now  assorted.  The  whole  country- 
seems  up  in  arms  about  politics.  We  reached  home  about  ten 
o'clock.  Monday,  made  mother  a  cap,  and  read  Hallam's 
"  Middle  Ages."  Tuesday,  made  two  collars,  and  read  the  same 
— had  nothing  else  to  do.  Wednesday,  too  impatient  to  do 
much,  but  in  the  afternoon  coaxed  Kate  off  into  the  swamp, 
where  we  had  a  very  nice  time,  and  got  an  abundant  supply  of 
flowers.  To-day  I  have  been  reading  the  New  Mirror^  and 
afterward  made  Kate  a  bracelet  of  pearls.  Wallace  has  gone  to 
Morrisville,  and  what  do  you  guess  I  have  been  making  for  us 
against  his  return  in  the  evening?  A  set  of  chess-men.  I 
have  checked  off  a  paper  for  a  board,  and  made  all  my  large 
men  of  poppy  heads.  The  difference  in  the  length  of  the  stems 
distinguishes  between  king  and  queen ;  the  castles  are  made  of 
two  heads  fastened  together  ;  the  bishops  have  split  stems  for 
mitres,  and  the  knights  are  decorated  with  plumes  in  the  ab- 
sence of  their  horses.  My  pawns  are  marigold  heads,  which, 
set  on  the  flat  side  with  the  little  stems  sticking  up,  are  as  per- 
fect pawns  as  you  ever  saw.  O  they  are  a  capital  set  of  men ; 
you  would  be  charmed  with  them.  The  two  parties  are  distin- 
guished by  a  a  streak  of  red  paint  on  one.  To-morrow  we  can 
have  father's  donkey — a  miserable  beast,  not  half  as  good  as 
Spring-halt,  and  mother,  Kate,  and  I  are  bent  on  a  ride.  It  is 
the  only  day  in  the  week  when  we  can  have  him,  and  so  I  pre- 
sume it  will  rain. 

Friday.  No,  it  did  not  rain;  but  I  mannged  to  get  up  a 
nervous  head-ache,  and  have  been  hugging  the  pillow  all  day. 
So  we  must  wait  for  another  Friday.  I  can  not  sit  up  yet;  my 
head  goes  like  a  spindle ;  so  no  more  at  jiresent.  I  have  got 
up  again,  and  carry  myself  a  little  more  respectably.  The  mail 
leaves  at  nine,  and  I  carry  myself  a  little  mo — bless  me !  I  am 
copying  from  the  line  above.  I  believe  I  am  growing  daft ;  but 
rC  importBy  I  am  determined  to  send  off  this  blotted  sheet  to- 


104  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

night.  ...  I  tliink  you  may  well  consider  yourself  among 
the  favored  [alias  the  bored)  ones ;  you  know  I  do  not  write 
such  long  letters  every  day.  If  you  can  not  find  out  wbotlusis 
from,  send  it  back  and  I  will  find  a  place  to  sign  it. 

FROM    N.    p.    WILLIS. 

Dear  Lady  Fanny, —  august  20, 1844. 

The  lost  letter  was  directed  to  "  Utica  Female  Academy," 
and  either  "  Cousin  Bel"  is  a  bad  mouser,  or  my  man  Tummus 
mis-boxed  the  letter.  Birt  no  matter.  It  was  merely  a  letter 
of  warm  thanks  for  what  you  had  done  for  us,  and  an  assurance 
that  though  we  could  not  pay  you,  we  could  make  your  name 
so  coinahle  by  praises  that  you  could  sell  high  to  others.  Every 
line  your  clever  pen  indites  should  bring  you  an  equivalent 
besides  praise,  and  we  will  bring  that  about  speedily.  You  have 
remarkable  talent  at  writing  the  readable,  and  if  you  are  not 
over  forty  you  have  a  career  before  you.  I  esteem  you,  authorly, 
very  much,  and  should  be  delighted  to  know  you,  pretty  or 
plain.  A  lady  tells  me  to-day  that  you  are  not  pretty,  or  you 
would  not  have  so  much  wit  and  leisure  to  throw  away ! 
Woman's  sagacity !  Please  tell  me  what  you  are  like,  and  I 
beg  you  to  write  for  us  as  long  as  you  can  afford  to.  How  can 
we  send  you  the  Mirror  and  our  extras — one  and  all  ?  How 
can  we  serve  or  please  you  ? 

Yours  admiringly, 

N.  P.  Willis. 

FROM    N.    P.    WILLIS. 

New  York,  September,  Sat,  1844. 

Your  beautiful  story,  kindest  of  Fannies,  is  already  in  type, 
and  it  is  time  my  thanks  were  on  the  way  to  you.  The  Mirror 
reflects  most  pleasurably  from  and  about  you,  and  "  we  "  plume 
ourselves  not  a  little  on  having  been  selected  by  you  as  your 
literary  god-father.  As  to  my  "making  a  world,"  I  could 
never  have  made  it  except  out  of  your  genius,  and  to  that  same 
fire  within  you  I  beg  to  acknowledge  no  inconsiderable  debt. 


"fanny  forester."  105 

I  think,  by  the  way,  that  you  had  better  be  looking  forward  to 
an  enlarged  reputation,  and  while  you  put  an  extra  drop  of 
Macassar  on  your  organ  of  hope,  put  two  on  your  organ  of  pains- 
taking and  caution.  The  time  is  not  very  far  off  when  you 
will  "  have  a  call "  to  collect  these  tales  into  a  volume,  and  it 
will  save  trouble  to  polish  while  the  iron  is  hot.  You  are  very 
much  more  gifted  than  you  think,  dear  Fanny,  (  I  may  "  dear  " 
your  nom  de  guerre)  and  pray,  bind  yourself  to  nothing,  not 
even  to  a  husband,  if  there  be  hinderance  in  it.  I  was  talking 
to  Mrs.  EUett  about  you  a  day  or  two  ago,  and  she  quite  glori- 
fies you. 

Give  my  kindest  remembrance  to  our  common  friend,  Mrs. 
Kirkland,  when  you  return  to  Utica,  and  beheve  me, 
Yours  as  faithfully  as  admiringly, 

N.  P.  Willis. 

FROM    N.    P.    WILLIS. 

New  Tokk,  September  27th,  1844. 

Your  womanly  and  natural  letter  is  full  of  charm  for  me, my 
friend,  and  I  assure  you,  I  see,  through  its  simple  earnestness  and 
modesty,  a  heart  worth  treating  with  respect  and  delicacy.  I 
wish  I  could  talk  with  you  an  hour,  instead  of  writing;  for 
writing  letters  to  me  is  like  the  postman's  walking  for  pleasure. 
It  is  the  drop  too  much.  Briefly  let  me  off'er  you  my  friend- 
ship, and  a  vow  to  serve  you  and  your  reputation  to  the  best  of 
my  means  and  ability.  Mrs.  Willis,  who  sits  by  me,  offers  you 
her  admiring  friendship  also,  and  now  to  business. 

The  Mirror  of  this  week  will  explain  to  you  why,  with  all 
our  success,  we  are  under  the  necessity  of  starting  a  new  paper, 
requiring  great  outlay,  and  impoverishing  us,  for  a  year  at  least, 
most  uncomfortably.  Therefore,  and  therefore  only,  we  do  not 
employ  you  at  once,  and  give  you  more  than  any  other  writer 
could  get  from  us;  for  you  are  more  readable  than  any  female 
writer^  in  this  country.  We  consider  ourselves  your  debtor, 
however,  and  shall,  with  our  first   emergence  from  this  new 

5* 


106  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 


plunge,  give   some   signs  to  that  effect.     Thus  much,  though 
you  claim  no  money,  it  was  necessary  for  me  to  say. 

As  to  your  one  vein  of  writing,  you  are  under  a  very  natural 
delusion.  The  fog  clears  up  as  you  go  along,  and  you  will  go 
on  writing  charmingly  for  twenty  years.  No  need  either  of 
painting  the  dark  side.  The  world  is  full  of  beauty.  Dismiss 
the  attempt  to  weigh  your  to-morrows,  and  believe  this,  with 
me,  that  you  have  a  fame  before  you.  If  I  were  "in  the  mar- 
ket," I  would  marry  you  on  speculation  to-morrow,  as  a  girl 
with  an  unquestionable  dowry — let  alone  your  "  black  eyes." 

I  shall  go  on  glorifying  you  in  our  new  daily  paper,  until  the 
magazine  people  give  you  fifty  dollars  an  article,  and  meantime 
if  you  have  any  thing  you  can  not  sell  (particularly  a  short 
story,  or  essay,  or  sketch  of  character),  let  us  have  it  for  the 
Evening  Mirror,  and  we  will  give  you  its  value  in  some  shape. 
Do  not  waste  time  or  labor,  however,  even  upon  us,  but  write  a 
novel  little  by  little.     You  can.     .     .     . 

I  have  no  more  time  (for  less  than  twelve  thousand  pair  of 
eyes),  and  must  stop  writing  to  one  pair  only — black  though 
they  be. 

Yours,  with  very  sincere  friendship, 

N.  P.  Willis. 

FROM    N.    P.    WILLIS. 

ON     THE    SKETCH     ENTITLED     "DOEA." 

New  York,  November  16, 1844. 

I  have  just  read  the  proof  of  your  exquisitely  beautiful  outline 
story,  my  dear  Miss  Chubbuck,  and  my  heart  is  in  my  throat 
with  its  pathos,  and  with  mj  interest  in  your  genius.  I  see  the 
inner  iris  of  the  story,  of  course.  I  could  talk,  talk  to  you  days 
of  what  is  in  your  brain  and  heart  at  this  moment ;  for  I  read 
it  with  my  own  recollections  of  first  fame,  and  with  the  eye 
God  has  given  me  to  see  hearts  with.  You  are  gifted  far  be- 
yond your  own  belief,  but  your  heart  is  more  gifted  than  your 
head.    Your  affections  are  in  more  need  of  room  and  wings 


i% 


"fanny  forester."  107 

than  your  imagination.  I  should  bless  God  for  your  sake  to 
hear  that  a  poet  and  man-angel  had  taken  you  to  a  dell  in  the 
wilderness,  never  to  be  heard  of  more. 

With  nothing  but  your  writings  to  guide  me,  I  have  begun 
with  gaily  rejoicing  over  a  new  found  star,  and  ended  with  a 
tearful  interest  in  your  destiny,  and  a  respect  for  your  truth  and 
purity  which  makes  me  repent  of  ever  having  spoken  of  you 
triflingly.  You  will  forgive  this.  Hereafter  you  will  see  no 
word  touching  yourself  that  does  not  pass  through  the  fountain 
of  reverence  you  have  called  up  in  my  heart. 

I  am  writing  while  "  proofs  "  are  coming — interruptedly  and 

carelessly  of  course.     I  was  pleased  and  displeased  at  's 

changing  her  opinion  of  me ;  displeased  at  the  suspicion  that 
my  inner-self  had  ever  committed  its  purity  to  the  world,  or  had 
ever  been  on  trial  in  a  pure  mind.  My  dear  friend,  you  know, 
though  you  have  never  perilled  your  outer  mind  by  laying  it  open 
to  all  comers,  that  there  is  an  inner  sanctuary  of  God's  lighting 
which  brightens  as  the  world  is  shut  out,  and  which  would 
never  suffer  profanation.  It  is  in  this  chamber  of  my  better 
nature  that  you  are  thought  of — but  I  have  no  time  to 
explain. 

The  pain  that  you  are  suffering  from  the  exposure  of  fame  is 
a  chrysalis  of  thought.  You  will  be  brighter  for  it,  though  the 
accustomed  shroud  of  seclusion  comes  off  painfully.  The  opin- 
ion of  the  "  Uticanians  "  as  to  any  thing  but  your  amiableness 
and  respectability,  is  not  worth  one  straw — though  a  straw  stuck 
in  your  eye  is  as  formidable  as  a  house-beam.  By  an  effort  of 
mind  you  can  throw  Utica  to  the  distance  of  Rochester  or  Buf- 
falo, and  then  every  thing  you  hear  will  have  just  the  value 
which  the  same  thing  would  have  if  said  in  Buffalo.  Still,  per- 
haps you  have  yet  to  learn  that  genius  burns  darkest  nearest 
the  wick,  never,  never  appreciated  by  those  who  eat,  drink,  and 
walk  with  it.  You  are  a  hundred  times  more  admired  in  New 
York  than  you  ever  could  be  in  Utica,  and  it  is  the  charm  of 
city  life  that  the  "  solitude  of  a  crowd  "  throws  even  your  near- 


108  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

est  neighbor  to  the  proper  perspective  distance.     Keep  making 
an  effort  to  shed  neighborhood.     .     .     . 

Yours,  with  sincere  respect  and  affection, 

N.  P.  Willis. 

FROM    N.    P.    WILLIS. 

New  Toek,  November  24, 1844 

My  Dear  Friend, — 

At  the  close  of  five  hours  of  mental  labor,  I  can  scarce 
undertake  to  do  more  than  make  mems.  of  what  I  would  say 
to  you,  and  you  must  write  me  long  letters  for  these  scraps 
of  sentences.  Yonr  last  was  delightful,  because  it  was  frank 
and  sisterly.  Your  bump  of  caution  must  be  very  large,  how- 
ever, since  you  supposed  that  the  public  might  see  the  "  inner 
bow"  as  I  did,  and  dreaded  the  interpretation,  "  parading  your 
feehngs,"  etc.  Nobody  could  ever  read  a  line  of  yours  and  see 
any  thing  but  merit  over-modest,  as  far  as  that  goes ;  and  there 
is  no  writing  well  without  coloring  from  one's  own  heart — par- 
ticularly in  first  beginnings.  I  was  exceedingly  interested  in 
the  fact  that  there  was  a  touch  of  Dora  in  your  own  history, 
though  I  did  not  and  do  not  seek  the  least  intrusion  upon  your 
confidence  in  such  matters.  My  interest  in  you  is  a  shadow  of 
your  intellect,  and  followed,  of  course,  when  your  intellect 
went  into  your  heart  as  a  comforter.  There  are  two  worlds, 
my  dear  Dora — one  imaginative  and  the  other  real  life — and 

people  of  genius  have  separate  existences  in  both 

I  had  a  call,  a  few  days  ago,  from  a  very  able  artist,  who  was 
so  struck  with  a  descriptive  passage  in  your  story  of  Dora  that 
he  wished  to  paint  it.  I  commissioned  him  to  do  it,  and  shall 
send  you  the  picture. 

In  another  letter,  Mr.  Willis  says,  in  regard  to  the 
picture  : 

I  am  glad  the  idea  of  the  picture  pleases  you.  It  is  likely  to 
be  an  interesting  matter,  for  the  artist,  Flagg,  whose  mother 


'^  FANNY   FORESTER."  109 

relies  on  me  as  her  son's  guardian  angel,  told  me  to-day  that  he 
should  take  the  opportunity  to  put  his  mother's  head  and  mine 
on  the  same  canvnss  !  I  am  to  be  the  "stranger,"  his  mother 
the  motherly  guardian  of  Dora,  and  Dora  imaginative.  If  you 
were  here  he  should  paint  your  head  for  Dora.  The  subject  is 
the  putting  the  question  to  Dora,  as  she  sits  in  the  window. 
Your  imagination  will  easily  see  how  it  will  look ;  but  you  must 
prepare  to  be  disappointed,  and  it  will  show  you  one  very  curious 
thing — how  other  people  conceive  of  the  scenes  you  describe. 
Mr.  Flagg's  mother,  by  the  way,  was  the  sister  of  AVashington 
Allston,  and  is  a  woman  of  admirable  qualities.  Flagg  himself 
is  a  most  beautiful  youth,  and  of  an  eccentric  character  that  I 
love,  but  sadly  dissipated.  I  do  my  best  to  cultivate  his  vir- 
tuous side.  He  is  about  twenty-five,  and  a  capital  artist.  He 
has  promised  the  picture  for  next  Saturday,  and  I  will  send  it  to 
you  the  week  following. 

I  regret  that  I  am  unable  to  furnisli  any  thing  from 
Emily's  side  of  the  correspondence  between  herself  and 
Mr.  Willis.  In  answer  to  a  note  respecting  the  corre- 
spondence, Mr.  Willis  very  kindly  replies  :  "I  think  it 
most  probable  that  Mrs.  Judson's  literary  novitiate 
might  form  an  exceedingly  interesting  chapter  of  her 
biography,  and  I  need  not  assure  you  that  I  shall  be 
most  willing  to  furnish  any  material  for  it  which  either 
my  documents  or  my  memory  may  retain.  Of  my  own 
letters  to  her  you  are  quite  at  liberty  to  make  a  discre- 
tionary use,  though  I  can  only  judge  of  their  tone  by 
my  remembrance  of  her  most  truthful  and  sweet  nature, 
and  the  impossibility  that  there  could  be  a  word  which 
would  not  breathe  of  respect  and  homage,  in  any  letters 
addressed  to  her.  Of  her  letters  to  me  I  think  I  could 
find  the  greater  number,  but  they  ^re  buried  in  a  wilder- 
ness of  correspondence  stowed  away,  and  I  should  require 


110  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

time  and  leisure  for  the  task."  On  subsequently  explor- 
ing the  "  wilderness/'  Mr.  Willis  found  that  nearly  all  the 
letters  had  disappeared,  onlj^  two  or  three  being  left, 
which  contained  nothing  of  sufficient  importance  to  jus- 
tify their  publication. 

In  December  he  writes  to  Fanny  again  : 

My  Dear  Friend, — 

I  have  been  intending  to  write  you  a  long  letter,  and  have 
wasted  odds  and  ends  of  time  in  the  hope  of  an  hour  of  leisure. 
But  I  must  now  simply  advise  you  of  the  boxing  up  of  the  pic- 
ture of  Dora,  and  assure  you  how  large  a  slice  of  the  kindest 
side  of  my  heart  goes  with  it.  I  do  not  know  when  I  shall  be 
able  to  write  to  you,  for  I  am  so  overdone  with  cares  and  work 
that  my  doctor  has  ordered  me  out  of  town,  and  I  must  confine 
myself  to  the  most  needful  pen-work.  .  .  .  The  picture  has  been 
visited  by  thousands,  and  is  much  admired.  Hang  it  with  a 
side  light,  and  be  careful  in  having  it  unpacked. 

Your  "  bald  composer," 

N.  P.  W. 

How  diligently  Emily  must  have  labored  under  the 
fresh  stimulants  now  applied  to  her  will  be  seen  ^hen 
we  observe  within  how  brief  a  period  her  magazine  au- 
thorship was  compressed.  She  wrote  to  Mr.  Willis  in 
June,  1844.  In  December,  1845,  a  year  and  a  half  after- 
ward, she  formed  that  acquaintance  with  Dr.  Judson 
which  changed  the  whole  current  of  her  destiny.  And 
the  eighteen  months  which  thus  embraced  her  entire 
"Fanny  Forester"  career,  were  largely  occupied  with 
her  school  duties,  and  even  still  more  largely  broken 
in  upon  by  repeated  and  prolonged  illness.  While  her 
sketches  were  rapidly  succeeding  each  other  in  the  maga- 
zines, she  relaxed  none  of  her  assiduity  in  her  daily  and 
more  quiet  duties  in  the  Seminary.     These  were  her 


Ill 

calling ;  tlie  rest  but  filled  her  hours  of  relaxation. 
Congenial  as  was  the  employment  of  writing,  and  stim- 
ulating as  were  the  praises  of  the  public,  the  approval 
of  friends,  and  still  more,  the  Hope  which  was  rising 
like  a  glad  star  of  promise  on  her  night  of  perplexity 
and  embarrassment,  she  still  regarded  this  as  but  a  side- 
labor,  which  was  not  to  interfere  with  her  life  profession. 
This  may  well  be  borne  in  mind  by  those  who  look  upon 
her  magazine  labors  with  a  suspicious  eye.  These  were 
not  her  leading  pursuit.  They  were  indulged  in  chiefly 
when  her  companions  were  buried  in  slumber,  or  enjoying 
the  recreations  of  society — and  this  under  an  overmaster- 
ing sense  of  filial  obligation.  She  was  straining  every 
nerve  to  support  herself,  and  to  pay  lier  debts — debts 
contracted  in  procuring  for  her  aged  parents  the  comforts 
of  a  home.  Emily's  disposition  was  not  demonstrative  ; 
she  made  no  parade  of  her  benevolence  or  her  exertions. 
She  silently  resolved,  and  then  resolutely — almost  dog- 
gedly— worked,  scarcely  half  aware,  herself,  either  of  the 
depth  of  her  sensibility,  or  of  the  extent  and  sternness 
of  her  toils  and  sacrifices.  The  only  true  heroism  is  un- 
conscious heroism — that  which  performs  prodigies  of  love 
under  the  simple  impulse  of  duty — and  this  was  hers. 
Let  now  the  majority  of  those  calling  themselves  Chris- 
tians, bearing  in  mind  the  above  facts,  read  over  her 
sketches,  and  observe  the  spirit  which  they  breathe,  and 
the  lessons  which  they  inculcate,  and  then  ask  themselves 
if  tJiey  can  give  as  good  an  account  of  their  hours  of  re- 
laxation from  the  sterner  purposes  of  life.  Dress,  party- 
going,  frivolous  conversation,  even  the  most  of  lighter 
reading — place  over  against  these  the  truth  and  purity 
of  Emily's  delightful  sketches  !  She  was  exhausting 
the  springs  of  youth  in  behalf  of  the  sinking  energies  of 


112  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

age,  but  never  by  a  moment's  compromise  of  moral  prin- 
ciple. 

And  equally  should  they  bear  in  mind  the  checkered 
brevity  of  Emily's  literary  career,  who  would. judge  fairly 
that  literary  reputation  which  rested  so  largely  on  her 
"  Fanny  Forester"  sketches.  Within  little  more  than  one 
short  year — a  year  of  engrossing  duty  and  of  the  frailest 
health — she  achieved  nearly  all  by  which  she  was  known 
to  the  literary  public  before  she  went  abroad.  How 
much,  then,  might  have  been  anticipated  as  the  ripened 
fruit  of  time,  and  health,  and  leisure  !  For  that  hers 
were  no  precocious  and  hot-bed  productions — that  they 
were  but  the  first  fruits  of  what  might  have  expanded 
into  a  rich  and  noble  harvest,  her  after  life  in  which, 
while  her  frame  was  wasting  under  deadly  disease, 
her  mind  displayed  still  increasing  vigor,  abundantly 
evinced. 

The  sensation  days  of  Fanny  Forester  are  of  course 
forever  gone  by.  In  this  on-rushing  age  even  the  most 
brilliant  intellects  can  rivet  the  public  gaze  but  for  a 
moment ;  then,  yielding  to  some  new  brilliancy,  they 
withdraw  into  their  permanent  shining  place  in  the 
clustering  firmament  of  genius.  But  there  they  are, 
unextinguished  and  immortal.  "  A  thing  of  beauty  is  a 
joy  forever,"  and  passes  from  being  the  transient  excite- 
ment of  the  age,  into  a  lasting  inheritance  of  the  ages. 
And  those  who  now  turn  over  the  stories  of  Alderbrook 
will,  I  think,  be  at  no  loss  to  explain  the  popularity 
which  they  attained.  They  will  find  in  them  a  truth  to 
nature — a  freshness  and  raciness  of  thought  and  diction 
— a  freedom  from  the  hackneyed  conventionalisms  of 
ordinary  story-telling,  a  descriptive  and  dramatic  power, 
which  lend  to  them  an  unfailing  charm.     The  language 


"fanny  forester."  113 

is  ever  plain  and  simple.  They  never  affect  "big" 
words,  nor  deck  themselves  out  in  fri[)pories  of  expres- 
sion. If  there  are  occasional  conceits  of  thought — and 
such  are  almost  inevitable,  in  a  young  woman's  first 
converse  with  the  public — the  style  is  almost  wholly 
free  from  them.  It  delights  in  that  plain  Anglo-Saxon 
that  comes  freighted  with  home  associations  to  every 
heart  ;  and  yet  this  simple  style,  under  her  delicate 
handling,  has  all  the  grace  of  ornament. 

Another  source  of  the  popularity  of  her  sketches  is 
found  in  the  spirit  and  vivacity  of  her  descriptions — 
showing  a  clear  and  close  eye  for  the  observation  of 
nature — and  in  the  life-like  truthfulness  of  her  character 
drawing.  Her  personages  are  not  mere  pegs  on  which 
to  hang  a  story — a  train  of  external  incidents :  they 
are  themselves  the  story.  They  are  not  mere  labeled 
embodiments  of  the  virtues  and  vices  of  the  decalogue, 
but  actual  men  and  women,  brought  by  a  few  simple  tut 
effective  touches  livingly  before  the  eye,  and,  even  in  her 
lightest  sketches,  sharply  individualized.  Thus  the  in- 
terest of  her  stories  is  emphatically  a  human  interest. 
It  is  not  what  the  actors  do,  but  what  they  are,  that 
rivets  our  attention,  and  chains  us  to  her  fascinating 
pages.  As  might  be  inferred  from  this,  she  possesses 
extraordinary  dramatic  power.  The  dramatis  personce 
live  and  breathe  and  move  through  the  story.  The  au- 
thor transports  herself  into  the  scene  ;  identifies  herself 
with  her  characters ;  and  instead  of  conducting  her  narra- 
tion by  cold,  second-hand  details,  makes  it  gush  warmly 
and  livingly  from  the  lips  of  the  speakers.  Not  unfre- 
quently  nearly  the  whole  story  is  unfolded  by  dialogue, 
natural,  racy,  and  spirited,  and  that  which  in  its  mere 
outward  details  would  be  but  a  trivial  incident,  under 


114  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

this  warm,  dramatic  handling,  and  imbedded  in  human 
passion,  is  impregnated  with  life  and  interest.  Equally 
happy,  too,  is  Emily  in  the  conduct  of  her  nan-ative — in 
the  management  of  the  plot — in  so  seizing  upon  the 
hinging-points,  the  nodes  and  crises  of  the  story,  and  so 
coloring,  and  grouping,  and  contrasting  them,  as  to  give 
them  their  utmost  effect.  With  the  instinctive  eye  of 
genius,  she  separates  the  incidental  from  the  essential, 
and  strikes  to  the  inmost  core  of  her  subject. 

And  finally — and  here  perhaps  was  preeminently  the 
secret  of  Emily's  power — she  was  drawing  from  her  own 
life,  "  coloring  from  her  own  heart.''  With  every  stroke 
of  her  pen  she  daguerreo typed  herself  upon  the  page 
before  her.  The  trials  of  her  youth — her  own  harsh 
experiences — quivered  through  her  bright  and  glitter- 
ing fancies,  and  compelled  many  a  tear  from  hearts  un- 
knowing of  the  cause.  She  was  unconsciously  obeying 
thQ  dictum  of  the  great  master  ;  she  moved  others  be- 
cause she  had  first  been  moved  herself  "The  tear  that 
trembled  in  their  eye  answered  to  that  which  had  first 
glistened  in  her  own.  The  emotion  that  swelled  their 
bosoms  was  responsive  to  that  which  had  throbbed  in 
her  own  breast.  True  to  herself,  she  was  true  to  the 
universal  elements  of  humanity. 

And  yet  she  was  far  from  being  the  mere  recorder ; 
she  dealt  not  in  the  mere  statistics  of  experience.  Her 
power  of  fancy  was  equal  to  her  power  of  feeling.  The 
germ  of  her  conception  sprung  from  the  actual,  but  it 
developed  itself  in  the  realm  of  the  ideal.  When  fancy 
supplied  the  ground- work,  her  feelings  insensibly  blended 
themselves  with  it,  giving  it  genuineness  and  vitality. 
When  she  started  from  experience,  fancy  instantly  stood 
as  its  servitor,  ready  to  invest  the  creation  with  her  bright 


"fanny  forester."  115 

and  glittering  hues.  Thus  her  heart  and  life-experiences 
were  so  transfigured  and  idealized  that  she  did  not  ob- 
trude herself  indelicately  or  painfully  before  the  public. 
"Grace  Linden/'  "Lilias  Fane,"  "Dora,"  "Nora  May- 
lie,"  "Ida  Kavelin'"  even,  were  all  born  in  the  depths  of 
her  own  nature,  all  embodied  a  certain  portion  of  her 
spiritual  essence  ;  yet  all  were  so  wrought  and  moulded, 
so  blended  with  imaginative  elements,  that  she  for 
whom  they  really  stood  "  passed  in  music  out  of  sight." 
So  amidst  the  deeper  emotions  of  later  life  her  power 
of  imagination  kept  pace  with  her  power  of  passionate 
emotion.  "  My  Bird,"  "  Watching,"  "  My  Angel  Guide," 
are  beautifully  idealized,  and  it  is  only  perhaps  in  "  Sweet 
Mother"  that  the  bleeding,  agonizing  heart  of  the  stricken 
wife  and  daughter  comes  nakedly  before  the  public. 
And  with  all  this,  there  breathes  through  all  her  pages 
a  tenderness  and  delicacy  of  sentiment  which  impart  to 
them  a  nameless  charm. 

In  this  slight  analysis,  I  am  not  claiming  for  "  Fanny 
Forester's"  sketches  the  highest  order  of  genius.  They 
are  a  woman's  production,  and  are  thoroughly  womanly. 
They  aspire  to  no  heights  of  masculine  eloquence,  no 
depths  of  philosophical  teaching.  They  deal  with  the 
heart,  the  fancy,  and  the  imagination.  Nor  in  mere 
vigor  and  grasp  of  intellect  is  she,  perhaps,  to  be  classed 
with  Joanna  Bailie,  Mrs.  Browning,  and  Miss  Bronte  ; 
although  looking  at  all  which  she  did,  I  am  satisfied 
that  she  approaches  much  nearer  to  them  in  intellectual 
vigor  than  they  do  to  her  in  womanly  delicacy  and  soft- 
ness. It  is  one  of  her  high  excellencies  that  she  never 
compromises  her  womanhood  ;  and  yet  to  her  who  could 
write  the  "  Madness  of  the  Missionary  Enterprise,"  and 
render  such  contributions  as  she  did  to  the  memoir  of 


116  .     LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

her  husband,  is  to  be  assigned  no  mean  rank  among  the 
intellects  of  the  world.  Mr.  Willis,  Dr.  G-riswold,  and 
Mr.  H,  B.  Wallace,  than  whom  our  country  has  pro- 
duced no  more  competent  literary  critics,  estimated  her 
genius  as  of  a  very  high  order,  and  regarded  her  true 
sphere  as  that  not  of  popularity,  but  of  fame. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE     INVALID. 

"  For  I  mind  me  that  the  gifted 
Are  the  stricken  ones  of  earth." 

"  0  Saviour  !   whose  mercy,  severe  in  its  kindness, 

Has  chastened  my  wanderings  and  guided  my  way; 
Adored  be  the  power  that  illumined  my  blindness, 
And  weaned  me  from  phantoms  that  lured  to  betray." 

But  the  sword  was  wearing  out  the  sheath.  Emily's 
slender  franie  was  not  equal  to  the  drafts  made  upon  it, 
and  on  her  visit  home  in  December  she  was  seized  with 
a  fever  which  prostrated  her  for  several  weeks,  and  left 
her  when  able  to  return  to  Utica,  extremely  feeble. 

The  picture  of  "  Dora"  spoken  of  above  arrived  with 
the  New  Year.  It  is  a  beautiful  picture,  worthy  of  the 
taste  of  the  donor,  and  the  capacity  of  the  artist,  as 
well  as  an  elegant  tribute  to  the  genius  which  had  in- 
spired it. 

TO    MRS.    BATES. 

Hamilton,  January  14, 1845. 

My  Dear  Marie, — 

I  was  much  disappointed  at  not  seeing  you  here ;  but  I 
could  not  have  gone  with  you  if  you  had  come,  for  I  have  not 
yet  stepped  my  foot  upon  the  ground.  I  thank  you  for  your 
kind  offer  of  sending  for  me ;  but  I  am  now  needed  at  Utica 
every  day,  and  must  return  as  soon  as  I  am  able  to  ride  at  all. 


118  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

I  shall  hide  myself  in  a  cloak  and  hood,  on  Saturday  or  Monday 
I  think,  if  it  is  pleasant,  and  put  myself  into  Wallace's  hands 
to  take  back  as  he  would  any  other  baggage.  This  is  absolutely 
necessary,  and  mother  consents  to  it  with  a  better  grace  that  I 
promise  her  that  I  will  do  nothing  more  than  oversee  my  affairs 
until  I  am  quite  well.  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  could  not  have 
made  the  visit  at  your  house — it  would  have  been  charming — 
but  I  promise  myself  the  pleasure  at  some  future  time. — Really, 
you  ought  to  have  been  here  and  seen  my  picture ;  it  is  ex- 
quisitely beautiful,  and  charms  everybody.  There  is  an  artist 
in  town  who  spent  the  last  winter  in  New  York ;  he  says  he 
never  saw  so  fine  a  painting  of  the  kind.  It  came  to  hand  on 
the  1st;  so  my  Christmas  gift  was  turned  into  a  New  Year's 
one.  They  were  intending  to  notice  it  in  the  paper;  but  I 
begged  them  not — (it  would  be  telling  everybody  who  Fanny 
Forester  is,  you  know) — and  the  article  was  suppressed.  They, 
however,  copy  the  notice  from  the  Mirror. 

I  received  last  night  a  letter  from  Graham,  asking  for  stories 
which  I  can  not  Write — is  it  not  provoking?  "The  Chief's 
Daughter"  and  "  Katie  Holland"  in  the  February  number  are 
mine. 

I  am  glad  your  sister  is  so  well,  and  above  all  happy.  I 
should  like  exceedingly  to  know  her,  and  will  write  if  I  can. 
But  pen-work  is  no  play  with  me,  you  know.  I  shall  try  to 
make  a  compromise  with  my  friends,  and  write  them  one  poor 
letter  for  half  a  dozen  good  ones.  Will  you  accede  to  such 
terms  ?     Here  begin  I.     .     .     . 

Shall  I  say  to  you,  Maria  dear,  that  I  am  more  annoyed  than 
pleased  with  the  sensation  I  am  making  just  now  ?  If  people 
talk  of  me,  I,  of  course,  prefer  good  to  ill ;  but  I  would  much 
rather  they  would  not  talk  at  all.  There  has  been  a  New  York 
"  lion  "  to  Utica,  on  purpose  to  see  me  ;  he  would  have  followed 
me  out  here,  but  they  told  him  I  was  too  ill  to  see  company. 
Now  I  do  not  like  to  be  an  object  of  curiosity  like  the  Siamese 
Twins  or  Tom  Thumb.     You  appreciate  the  matter. 


THE   INVALID.  119 

It  is  getting  quite  dark,  and  they  will  not  allow  me  to  write 
by  candle-liglit ;  so  I  must  close  my  shabby  apology  for  a  let- 
ter while  I  can  see  to  sign  my  name.  My  very  kindest  regards 
to  your  dear,  good  husband,  and  every  body  else  that  you  love, 
and  believe  me. 

Your  warmly  attached  friend, 

Emily  E.  Chubbuck. 

Emily  returned  to  Utica  the  last  of  January,  how  fee- 
ble the  following  will  show  : 

TO    HER    SISTEE. 

Utica,  February  8, 1845. 

Dear  Kitty, — 

I  have  been  looking  and  looking  for  a  letter  from  home, 
but  as  I  do  not  get  it,  I  suppose  I  may  as  well  write  myself.  I 
do  not  think  I  am  any  better  than  when  I  left  home ;  though 
I  am  a  good  deal  better  than  on  the  week  following,  for  it  threw 
nie  back  wondeifully.  The  teachers  help  me  correct  composi- 
tions, and  I  do  nothing  else ;  fear  that  I  shall  not  write  any 
this  winter.  As  for  eating,  I  do  not  go  to  the  table,  and  do  not 
make  a  glutton  of  myself  exactly.  I  have  lived  nearly  all  the 
time  on  the  beef,  and  it  is  not  more  than  half  gone.  I  am  ex- 
pecting my  breakfast  of  gruel  to  be  brought  up  every  minute. 
I  have  four  kinds  of  pills  to  take — three  kinds  of  the  largest 
size  imaginable;  the  others  I  have  to  take  after  dinner  to 
sweeten  the  meal.  Then  I  have  other  doses  besides.  Dr.  J.  is 
in  for  it,  and  he  seems  to  think  that  if  he  cures  Fanny  Forester 
it  will  be  the  making  of  him.  Anna  Maria  went  to  Schenec- 
tady yesterday  to  spend  a  week,  and  I  miss  her  sadly.  .  .  . 
I  had  a  letter  from  Mr.  Willis  yesterday  week ;  he  says  he  lets 
the  daily  go  to  Hamilton  still  for  you  people.  Have  received  a 
letter  from  Graham,  but  there  was  no  particular  news  in  it,  ex- 
cept that  "  Nickie  Ben  "  was  too  late  for  the  March  number ; 
but  he  has  a  little  tit-bit  of  a  story  of  about  two  pages  which  he 


120  LIFE  OF   MKS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

intends  to  insert  in  it.     Do  write.     I  have  no  news,  and  do  not 
feel  well  enough  to  stretch  out  a  long  letter.  E. 

But  Miss  Chubbuck's  health  was  deemed  too  feeble  to 
endure  safely  the  rigors  of  the  spring  climate  of  Utica. 
Miss  Sheldon's  thoughtful  kindness,  sustained  by  the 
advice  of  the  physician,  suggested  a  temporary  retreat  to 
the  milder  region  of  Philadelphia.  Emily  writes  thus  to 
her  sister  : 

March  17, 1845. 

I  was  sorry  to  hear  that  you  were  ill ;  I  believe  it  is  the  fate 
of  the  family,  for  I  am  not  quite  so  well  as  I  should  like  to  be. 

.  .  .  Dr.  James  and  Miss  C.  think  it  best  for  me  to  go  to 
a  warmer  place  until  summer  comes,  and  so  Miss  C.  has  con- 
cluded to  go  next  week  with  me  to  Philadelphia.  She  will  put 
me  under  the  care  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Gillette,  a  Baptist  clergyman, 
find  me  a  nice  boarding-house  and  then  leave  me  for  four,  five, 
or  six  weeks  as  I  think  best.  It  will  cost  some  money,  but  it 
seems  absolutely  necessary.  This  spring  weather  almost  kills 
me.  I  shall  get  the  money  for  my  payment,  and  send  it  home 
before  I  go.  .  .  Did  you  read  the  poetry  addressed  to  Fanny 
Forester  in  the  Mirror  ?  And  do  you  not  think  it  beautiful  ? 
It  is  by  Jane  Wright.  You  will  find  my  "  Weaver"  in  Friday's 
paper.  .  .  "  Nickie  Ben  "  is  in  the  April  number  of  Gra- 
ham, but  I  have  not  seen  it  yet.  I  have  written  another  story 
entitled  "  Blanche  de  Monville,"  and  that  is  all  I  have  done  this 
winter.  The  Columbian  people  pretend  to  think  all  the  world 
of  me ;  Graham  is  as  good  as  the  bank,  and  Willis  fifty  times 
better.     .     . 

The  following  are  the  lines  referred  to  in  the  preced- 
ing letter.  Miss  Wright  was  a  member  of  the  Sem- 
inary. 


THE   INVALID.  121 

LINES    TO    FANNNY    FORESTER. 

BY    MISS    MARY    FLORENCE    NOBLE. 

Saw  you  ever  a  purer  light, 

More  still  and  fair  than,  the  harvest  moon, 
When  day  has  died  in  a  shadowless  night, 

And  the  air  is  still  as  a  summer  noon  ? 
No  ?  Ah,  sweet  one,  your  eyelids  shrine 
A  light  far  purer  and  more  divine. 

Heard  you  ever  the  silvery  gush 

Of  a  brook  far  down  in  its  rocky  dell. 
And  stilled  your  breath  with  a  trembling  hush, 

As  its  mystic  murmurs  rose  and  fell  ? 
'Tis  thus  I  list  to  the  liquid  flow 
Of  your  silvery  accents  soft  and  low. 

Yes,  sweet  Fanny,  the  light  that  gleams 

'Neath  the  sweeping  fringe  of  your  radiant  eyes, 

Too  purely  chaste  and  too  heavenly  seeioas 
To  dwell  in  the  glare  of  our  earthly  skies ; 

And  too  soft  and  low  your  tones  have  birth 

To  linger  long  'mid  the  din  of  earth. 

The  sweet  brow  shrined  in  your  clustering  hair 

Has  gathered  a  shadow  wan  and  deep  ; 
And  the  veins  a  darker  violet  wear, 

Which  over  your  hollow  temples  creep  ; 
And  your  fairy  foot  falls  faint  and  low 
As  the  feathery  flakes  of  the  drifting  snow. 

'Tis  said  the  gods  send  swift  decay 

To  the  bright  ones  they  love  of  mortal  birth ; 

And  your  angel  Dora  passed  away, 

In  her  youth's  sweet  spring  time,  from  the  earth ; 

Yet  stay,  sweet  Fanny,  your  pinions  fold. 

Till  the  hearts  that  love  you  now  are  cold. 
6 


122  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

The  little  poem,  "  The  Weaver/'  mentioned  in  her 
letter,  Emily  had  sent  to  the  Mirror  in  February.  It 
is  a  beautifully  imaginative  piece,  but  much  less  finely 
finished  than  as  it  subsequently  appeared  in  Alderbrook. 
Mr.  Willis  writes  to  her :  "  Your  ^  Weaver '  is  a  pure 
and  perfect  chrysalis  of  a  thought  lacking  finish,''  and 
in  a  subsequent  letter  recurs  thus*to  the  subject : 

^^  I  am  waiting  for  a  moment  of  fresh-minded  leisure 
(the  other  I  could  more  easily  find)  to  take  a  sunny  im- 
pression of  your  poem,  and  see  just  where  the  blemish 
was  that  first  struck  me.  I  am  determined  you  shall 
not  slight  any  thing  you  write  simply  from  over-  toil  in 
your  other  duties.  You  are  too  precious  a  commodity, 
and  as  your  trumpeter,  I  will  not  blow  my  blast  till  I 
know  you  are  ready  for  the  attention  it  draws  to  you." 

It  was  by  such  services,  by  friendly  and  just  criticism, 
as  well  as  by  his  praises,  that  Mr.  Willis  rendered  her 
at  this  period  valuable  aid.  He  taught  her  to  appreciate 
herself,  inspired  her  with  self-confidence,  and  yet  gave 
her  the  advantage  of  his  larger  experience  and  fine  taste 
in  detecting  and  removing  her  faults.  This  was  the 
fidelity  of  true  friendship  ;  and  the  excellence  which 
Emily  reached  in  her  later  poems,  while  in  part  the 
product  of  her  riper  experiences,  was,  in  no  small  mea- 
sure, the  result  of  assiduous  labor  and  severe  criticism. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE      CONVALESCENT. 

*'A  thousand  sweet  ties  bind  lier  here; 

Oh  friend,  thy  fears  are  vain  ! 
The  blessed  angels  will  not  break 

So  soon  the  golden  chain; 
And  God,  our  God,  who  loveth  her, 

Shall  breath  on  her  again. 

"The  languor  of  her  step  shall  yet 

With  winter  snows  depart ; 
Her  foot  shall  spring  on  carpets  wrought 

By  Flora's  loving  art, 
And  keep  time  to  the  joyous  beat 

Of  her  exulting  heart !" 

Thus,  in  response  to  the  lines  of  Miss  Wright,  sang, 
in  the  Mirror,  Mrs.  Sarah  J.  Clark  (G-race  Greenwood 
that  was  to  be),  giving  utterance  to  her  interest  in  the 
fate  of  our  fair  and  gifted  authoress.  I  add  the  three 
closing  stanzas  of  her  sweet  little  poem  : 

Our  souls'  arms  are  around  her  thrown, 

She  must  not  pass  away 
Now^  when  too  humble  for  the  proud, 

Too  lonely  for  the  gay, 
The  altar  of  sweet  poesy 

Is  falling  to  decay. 


124  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

O,  there  we  may  behold  her  yet 

In  her  young  beauty  bow  ; 
There  may  we  hear  her  glad  lip  breathe 

Her  consecration  vow ; 
Earth's  warm  life  lighting  up  her  eye — 

Its  glory  on  her  brow  ! 

There,  there  a  priestess  may  she  serve, 

With  vestments  pure  and  fair ; 
There  offer  up  her  winged  dreams, 

Young  doves  from  heaven's  own  air, 
And  pour  the  rich  wine  of  her  soul 

As  a  libation  there ! 

In  accordance  with  the  purpose  intimated  in  her  last 
letter,  Emily,  with  her  faithful  friend  and  guardian,  Miss 
Sheldon,  was  soon  en  route  for  the  city  which,  to  an  ex- 
tent then  undreamed  of,  was  to  be  linked  with  her  future 
fortunes.  Instead  of  allowing  them  to  carry  out  their 
purpose  of  procuring  a  private  boarding-house,  Kev.  Mr. 
Gillette  and  his  wife — acquaintances  of  Miss  Sheldon's, 
but  strangers  to  Emily — tendered  to  her  their  hospitali- 
ties, and  so  cordially  that  Emily  could  not  decline  them. 
In  their  house  and  society  she  found  a  comfortable  and 
deKghtful  home.  April  1st,  she  writes  thus  to  Miss 
Anable : 

They  (Mr.  and  Mrs.  Gillette)  received  me  as  if  they  had 
known  me  always,  Mrs.  Gillette  not  even  waiting  for  an  intro- 
duction. It  will  not  be  particularly  convenient  to  them  to  have 
me  here,  but  they  will  not  listen  to  my  going  away.  I  am 
growing  better  and  better  every  day,  and  promise  myself  a  de- 
lightful time.  I  think  I  shall  like  the  city  better  than  I  do 
New  York — all  but  the  white  blinds ;  them  I  can  not  endure. 
It  seems  all  the  time  as  though  somebody  was  poking  white 


THE    CONVALESCENT.  125 

sticks  in  my  eyes.  When  I  am  in  walkable  order,  and  little 
Jemmy  Gillette  gets  well,  Mrs.  G.  and  I  will  measure  the  pave- 
ments at  a  great  rate.  The  weather  yesterday  and  to-day  is 
like  June.  You  will  be  able  to  judge  something  about  it,  when 
I  tell  you  that  (such  a  cold  body  as  I  am)  I  sit  all  the  time  at 
the  open  window. 

Emily's  literary  reputation  had  preceded  her  to  Phila- 
delphia, and  drew  about  her  some  literary  friends,  whose 
attentions  added  to  the  pleasure  of  her  stay.  Her  patron, 
Mr.  Graham,  early  called  upon  her,  and  after  some  little 
playing  at  cross  purposes,  they  met.  She  was  new  to 
the  presence  of  literary  lions,  or  those  whom  she  took  to 
be  such,  and  although  she  could  make  very  free  with 
them  on  paper,  when  shielded  by  several  hundred  in- 
tervening miles  of  post  route,  she  found  meeting  them 
face  to  face  a  more  formidable  matter.  She  had  written 
some  spirited  letters  to  Mr.  Graham  about  his  publish- 
ing articles  under  the  signature  of  Fanny  Forester,  which 
he  had  previously  suffered  to  lie  unnoticed,  yet  now  her 
heart  went  pit-a-pat  at  the  prospect  of  a  personal  meet- 
ing. The  following,  from  the  same  letter,  details  their 
first  interview  : 

The  meeting  was  very  stiff.  He  was  surrounded  by  little 
boys. (he  brought  one  with  him — a  nephew  ;  he  has  no  chil- 
dren). I  walked  in  shaking  from  head  to  foot.  He  inquired 
if  I  was  Miss  Chubbuck,  and  gave  me  the  tips  of  his  fingers.  I 
expressed  regret  for  being  out  this  morning — then  a  long  pause. 
Afterwards  we  talked  about  the  Columbian^  Mr,  Willis,  and 
finally  about  our  last  quarrel  and  money  matters.  Sometimes  I 
trembled,  and  blundered,  and  stumbled  against  big  words,  and 
then  I  talked  on  for  a  few  minutes  quite  straight.  On  the 
whole,  I  guess  he  thinks  I  am  very  sensible  girl,  though  not 


126  LIFE    OF    MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSOK. 

quite  so  pretty,  and  poetical,  and  easy,  etc.,  as  he  expected.  He 
has  a  mighty  positive  way  of  saying  things,  but  you  can  not 
help  believing  every  thing  he  says.  He  talks  beautifully,  and 
■with  perfect  ease,  when  he  gets  a-going ;  but  he  makes  very 
long  pauses. 

Among  others  who  early  called  on  Emily  were  Dr. 
Eufus  W.  Griswold,  the  distinguished  historian  and 
critic  of  American  literature,  and  Mr.  Joseph  C.  Neal, 
the  witty  author  of  the  Charcoal  Sketches,  and  editor  of 
the  Saturday  Evening  Gazette.  With  all  these  gentle- 
men she  became  intimately  acquainted.  Dr.  Griswold 
and  Mr.  Graham  entered  warmly  into  her  literary  plans, 
and  urged  her  to  a  more  exclusive  and  aspiring  literary 
career.  The  time  thus  glided  rapidly  by,  her  health 
was  improved  by  her  long  drives  in  and  about  the  city 
of  "  Brotherly  Love,"  and  in  May  she  bade  her  many 
friends  a  reluctant  adieu,  and  turned  her  steps  home- 
ward. She  spent  a  fortnight  in  Brooklyn  on  the  way, 
and  made  the  personal  acquaintance  of  her  friend  and 
patron,  Mr.  Willis.  The  death  of  his  wife  just  then 
occurring  had  prevented  him  from  seeing  her  when  she 
passed  through  on  her  way  to  Philadelphia.  While  in 
Philadelphia  she  had  received  a  letter  from  him  in  reply 
to  one  from  her  of  sympathy  for  his  recent  loss.  In 
it,  after  paying  a  beautiful  tribute  to  his  deceased  wife, 
he  adds  :  "  I  have  once  or  twice  tried  to  loosen  the  lock- 
jaw of  my  bosom,  and  write  to  you  as  I  could  talk  to 
you,  but  I  must  abandon  the  idea.  I  am  compelled  to 
wall  in  my  heart,  so  as  to  go  on  amusing  the  world 
without  braiding  in  threads  that  belong  only  to  myself, 
and  it  requires  a  habit  of  reserve  to  do  this.    When  you 


THE    CONVALESCENT.  127 

come  to  New  York  we  shall  meet,  and  my  tongue  is  not 
used  in  my  trade  as  my  pen  is. 

"  I  am  made  happy  by  hearing  of  your  brightening 
under  the  bright  weather.  Continue  to  idle,  and  do  not 
write  one  line  for  the  3Iir7'or  ;  I  positively  forbid  it." 

Mr.  Willis  and  Emily  now  met  for  the  first  and  last 
time,  and  their  personal  interviews  strengthened  her 
gratitude  for  his  services  and  her  admiration  of  his 
genius.  He  was  much  interested  in  her  health,  and 
urged  her  removal  from  what  he  deemed  th6  ungenial 
climate  of  Utica — perhaps  a  trip  to  the  West  Indies  or 
to  Italy.  He  proffered  any  services  in  his  power,  but 
Emily  was  unwilling  to  incur  the  added  obligation  of 
accepting  them,  and  they  parted  not  to  meet  again  on 
earth.  Emily  returned  to  Utica,  and  Mr.  Willis  a  few 
weeks  after,  set  sail  for  Europe  for  the  purpose  of  con- 
veying his  orphaned  daughter  Imogen  to  her  relatives 
in  England. 

On  returning  to  Utica  Emily  took  her  wonted  place 
in  the  Seminary,  bringing  to  her  duties  invigorated  health 
and  spirits.  Her  visit  had  been  serviceable  to  her  in  other 
respects.  It  had  brought  her  into  society  under  circum- 
stances calculated  to  banish  her  timidity,  and  inspire  her 
with  self-confidence.  The  shy,  timid,  silent  girl,  whose 
nervous  frame  quivered  with  emotion  at  the  prospect  of 
an  introduction  to  strangers  at  all  distinguished,  would 
hardly  be  recognized  in  the  genial,  joyous^  animated,  and 
often  brilliant  young  lady  of  a  little  later  date.  Few, 
probably,  have  suffered  more  keenly  than  she  from 
timidity — a  timidity  almost  inseparable  from  her  slender 
frame  and  delicate  organization,  and  which  no  amount 
of  familiarity  with  the  world  could  ever  entirely  over- 
come.    There  was  always  a  little  fluttering  of  spirits  in 


128  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

the  company  of  strangers  ;  she  always  rather  glided  into 
a  room  as  if  unwilling  to  attract  observation,  than 
entered  it  with  the  easy  self-possession  of  the  thorough- 
bred woman  of  the  world.  In  a  little  poem  written  at 
Utica,  the  one  boon  which  she  craves  of  the  Muse  is — 
not  beauty,  not  genius,  not  the  laurel  wreath  of  fame — 
but  physical  courage.  As  the  painful  timidity  of  her 
earlier  years  passed  away,  the  constitutional  reserve  that 
remained,  betokening  the  most  genuine  womanhood, 
rather  heightened  than  detracted  from  her  personal  at- 
tractiveness. 

The  following  long  letter  written  in  reply  to  a  note  of 
gentle  caution  from  her  faithful  friend  Mrs,  Nott,  will 
show  how  rightly  and  soberly,  amidst  the  rush  of  her 
popularity,  she  estimated  her  literary  position  : 

TO    MRS.    NOTT. 

My  Very  Dear  Friend, —  tjtica,  June  6, 1845. 

Your  note  to  Anna  Maria  and  myself  was  most  gratefully 
received  (on  my  part  at  least),  because  it  gives  evidence  of  your 
kind  interest.  Do  you  know  what  a  strong  light  it  throws  on 
your  opinion  of  myself,  my  weakness,  etc.  ?  I  really  thought 
that  I  stood  higher  with  you ;  but  I  find  it  is  one  of  the  most 
difficult  things  in  the  world  to  find  out  precisely  how  "  others 
see  us."  Now  if  I  write  you  very  frankly,  and  even  egotisti- 
cally, I  know  you  will  forgive  me ;  because  this  is  a  subject 
that  my  friends  must  understand,  if  they  would  not  make  me 
very  uncomfortable. 

You  are  afraid  that  I  will  grow  vain — or  rather  you  think  I 
am  so ;  for  people  never  caution  without  supposed  cause.  I 
have  a  great  deal  of  pride  ; — more  than  you  ever  thought,  be- 
cause you  have  always  been  so  very  kind  to  me  that  it  has  never 
been  called  out  in  your  presence.  I  have  some  vanity ;  but 
unless  I  am  seriously  mistaken  in  my  estimate  of  my  own  char- 


THE    CONVALESCENT.  129 

acter  (and  I  have  scrutinized  it  more  severely  than  you  could), 
I  have  less,  rather  than  more,  than  the  generality  of  women. 
Now  what  cause  have  I  given  you  to  believe  that  I  was  puffed 
up  by  praises  ?  Do  I  look  pleased  with  a  compliment  ?  I  am 
pleased  particularly  when  I  am  conscious  of  deserving  it,  and  so 
willing  to  share  my  gratification  with  others  that  I  act  as  I  feel. 
This  (the  pleasure)  is  human  nature,  and  if  I  pretended  to  rise 
above  it  I  should  be  a  hypocrite. 

My  life,  from  my  cradle,  has  been  full  of  changes.  Without 
one  of  my  own  kindred  to  assist  me,  I  have  struggled  with  al- 
most every  kind  of  difficulty  up  to  the  present  moment.  Even 
you  can  not  dream  of  half  that  I  have  borne.  Heaven  knows, 
enough  to  make  me  humble.  Within  the  last  year — one  short 
year — I  have  gained  for  myself  a  position  which  others  have 
been  all  their  lives  in  attaining,  and  I  have  a  right  to  be  proud 
of  it.  You  may  tell  me  it  is  a  small  thing  to  be  a  magazine 
writer.  So  it  is.  But  it  is  not  a  small  thing  for  a  woman, 
thrown  upon  her  own  resources,  and  standing  entirely  alone,  to 
be  able  to  command  respect  from  every  body,  rising  by  her  own 
individual  efforts  above  the  accidents  of  fortune.  Does  all  this 
sound  like  boasting  ?  I  only  want  to  prove  to  you  that  I  un- 
derstand my  ground,  and  take  too  comprehensive  a  view  of  it  to 
have  my  beart  set  a  fluttering  by  every  swing  of  Mr.  Nobody's 
censer.  I  know  precisely  what  my  reputation  is  worth  to  me, 
for  I  have  measured  it  carefully ;  and  I  know,  too,  what  all 
these  silly  compliments  are  worth.  If  such  a  man  as  Bryant 
praises  me  (I  believe  he  has  had  the  bad  taste  to  set  me  before 

Miss  S ),  I  suppose  that  he  thinks  what  he  says ;  still  it  is 

only  the  opinion  of  one  man.  If  a  hundred  other  people  echo 
the  praise,  I  know  that  they  take  it  on  trust ;  so  the  compliment 
is  in  reality  to  Bryant,  not  to  me.  These  newspaper  puffs  are 
accidental  and  ephemeral  things,  and  while  I  will  not  despise 
them,  because  in  their  way  they  are  an  advantage  to  me,  do  not, 
I  beg  of  you,  think  that  I  am  such  a  simpleton  as  to  be  "  spoiled" 
by  them.     As  to  the  attentions  I  have  received  since  I  have 

6* 


130  LIFE    OF   MRS.   EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

been  gone,  they  have  certainly  put  me  a  little  more  at  ease  with 
myself,  but  I  do  not  believe  that  you  will  say  they  have  been 
disadvantageous.  In  sober  truth,  Heaven  has  blessed  me  (as  a 
balance  for  the  romance  which  I  am  not  going  to  disclaim) 
with  a  sort  of  mathematical  genius,  a  dollar-and-cent  way  of 
estimating  things,  which,  when  necessary,  takes  the  poetry  out 
of  them  in  a  twinkling.  Will  you  not  give  me  credit  for  some 
common  sense  at  bottom  ?  Think  of  all  the  things  that  I  have 
to  occupy  my  mind  :  the  serious  duties  of  life ;  the  cares  which 
nobody  can  share  with  me,  and  which  I  think  about  none  the 
less  for  not  always  talking  of  them.  Think  of  these,  and 
see  if  I  have  any  time  to  spare  to  vanity.  Have  I  ever,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Nott,  managed  my  own  affairs  indiscreetly,  that  you 
should  fear  that,  with  more  experience  to  guide  me,  I  will  do  it 
now  ?  Do  I  look  or  act  like  a  vain  woman  ?  Do  I  try  to  make 
a  great  show  and  attract  attention  to  myself?  Do  I  put  my- 
self forward  in  society  ?  I  intend  to  take  a  little  different  posi- 
tion from  what  I  have,  for  I  see  that  people  expect  it  of  me, 
and  my  diffidence  and  disposition  to  keep  out  of  sight  have  ob- 
tained for  me  the  reputation  of  being  cold-hearted  and  indiffer- 
ent. Indeed,  I  am  not  a  little  child,  to  go  into  ecstacies  at 
every  pretty  thing  that  is  said  to  me,  and  as  for  romance,  I  have 
not  half  so  much  as  when  you  first  knew  me.  It  is  my  trade 
now,  and  much  less  in  my  heart  than  then.  As  for  talking,  I 
must  talk  to  my  room-mates  of  the  things  that  I  think  about, 
and  with  others  I  will  try  to  use  all  needful  discretion.  If  you 
hear  of  any  thing  unwisely  said  or  done  on  my  part,  please  sus- 
pend judgment  until  you  know  the  wherefore.  Things  always 
have  two  sides.  I  have  been  treated  by  some  persons  most 
generously,  and  it  would  be  the  height  of  ingratitude  in  me  to 
refuse  them  the  slight  tribute  of  a  kind  word.  It  is  not  in  my 
nature  to  do  it,  and  I  do  not  believe  that  even  the  coldest  kind 
of  policy  requires  it.     Trust  me,  my  dear  Mrs.  Nott,  I  can  be 

discreet,  and  will I  am  governed  by  a  sense  of 

right  in  these  things,  though  I  seem  to  have  lost  the  confidence 


THE   CONVALESCENT.  131 

of  some  of  my  friends  to  such  a  degree,  that  I  should  hardly  get 
credit  for  any  thing  better  than  vanity — or,  at  least,  fancy. 

I  should  like  much  to  have  a  long  talk  with  you,  for  there 
are,  of  course,  many  things  which  I  can  not  put  into  a  letter. 
Indeed,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  said  nothing  as  I  meant  to 
say  it ;  but  I  hope  to  see  you  before  long.  Let  me  entreat  you, 
however,  once  for  all,  never  to  be  for  a  moment  troubled  about 
all  this  fol-de-rol  stuff's  turning  my  brain.  Were  you  in  my 
place,  you  would  see  it  with  different  eyes  from  what  you  do. 
Things  very  pretty  to  look  at  become  smoke  when  you  touch 
them.  Now,  /  am  touching  them,  and  I  laugh  to  find  what 
painted  bits  of  butterflies'  wings  might  have  seemed  wondrously 
attractive,  if,  half  a  dozen  years  ago,  I  could  have  foreseen  that 
it  was  to  be  my  lot  to  catch  them.  "Distance,"  you  know, 
"  lends  enchantment."  One  thing  more  I  wish  to  say.  I  beg 
of  you  not  to  be  annoyed  on  my  account,  if  you  hear  my  liter- 
ary merits  spoken  of  lightly.  It  is  what  I  ought  to  expect,  and 
J  am  fully  prepared  for  it.  I  hope  those  who  take  an  interest 
in  me  will  be  prepared  too,  for,  of  course,  I  can  not  please  every 
body. 

I  more  than  half  suspect  that  I  have  spoiled  my  own  case  by 
telling  you  so  frankly  my  opinion  of  myself  while  disclaiming 
undue  vanity ;  but,  surely,  a  sober  consciousness  of  one's  own 
capabilities  is  the  surest  safeguard  against  all  vagaries  of  fancy. 
Forgive  my  long,  tedious  letter.  Forgive  me,  also,  if  I  have 
written  too  seriously  and  earnestly,  for  really  I  could  not  bear 
to  be  so  misunderstood  by  you.  I  do  not  expect  to  be  appre- 
ciated by  the  multitude,  and  do  not  care  to  be ;  but  if  I  lose  the 
confidence  of  my  friends,  I  shall  be  a  forlorn  thing  indeed. 
Please  write  me  a  line  to  say  that  my  plainness  has  not  offended 
you,  and  believe  me,  my  dear  Mrs.  Nott,  your  truly  attached 
friend,  now  and  ever,  Emily. 

P.  S.  Anna  Maria  and  I  "  chum"  it  together  beautifully, 
and  the  room  is  as  pleasant  as  pleasant  as  can  be.     It  lacks  only 


132  LIFE  OF  MKS.   EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

its  old  occupant  to  make  it  as  agreeable  as  in  its  palmiest  days. 
When  can  you  come  and  see  it?  Dear  Mrs.  Nott,  do  not 
think,  from  what  I  have  written,  that  I  am  ungrateful  for  your 
generous  interest,  or  impatient  under  your  advice.  If  you  did 
not  advise  me,  I  should  think  that  you  did  not  love  me  any 
more  ;  and  what  I  have  written  has  been  from  a  sense  of  justice 
to  you  as  well  as  to  myself.  You  ought  to  know  me,  for  I  owe 
to  you  a  great  deal  of  care  and  kindness. 

TO    MRS.    GILLETTE. 

Utica,  July  2d,  1845. 

My  Dear  Mrs.  Gillette, — 

I  should  have  written  you  before,  but  I  really  did  not  be- 
lieve my  letter  would  be  worth  eighteen  pence ;  and  so  I  have 
waited  to  "  patronize  "  the  new  postage  law.  I  hope  you  will 
follow  this  most  laudable  example  far  enough  to  write  me  on 
the  day  that  you  receive  this.  Will  you  ?  May  I  hear  from 
you  very,  very  soon  ?     .     .     .  ^ 

I  had  a  delightful  time  at  Brooklyn.    Spent  two  weeks  there, 

and  saw  my  good  friend  W nearly  every  day.     I  like  him 

even  better  than  I  anticipated  ;  he  is,  however,  any  thing  but 
happy.  He  sailed  for  Europe  just  a  week  after  I  left.  I  wish 
you  had  been  along,  for  there  were  a  thousand  little  things 
happening  every  day,  very  pleasant  to  enjoy,  but  scarce  worth 
detailing,  or  at  least  writing  down.     .     .     . 

I  shall  claim  your  promise  to  let  me  come  and  live  with  you 
next  winter,  provided  I  do  not  go  where  it  is  still  warmer.  I 
have  some  anticipation  of  going  where  the  oranges  grow,  and 
they  have  roses  in  winter  time.  Seriously,  I  talk  somewhat  of 
a  trip  to  Italy  this  fall.  Mr.  L.,  our  consul  to  Genoa,  is  now 
here  and  will  return  in  a  few  months  with  his  family,  and  I 
entertain  the  idea  of  accompanying  them.  Would  it  not  be 
quite  an  expedition  for  me?  The  matter,  however,  is  quite 
doubtful  yet,  though  I  certainly  shall  not  remain  in  this  cold 
climate.     .    .     . 


THE    CONVALESCENT.  133 

The  pleasant  time  that  I  spent  with  yon  I  shall  not  soon  for- 
get. I  only  wish  that  the  whole  could  be  repeated.  Is  my 
little  husband  married  again,  or  does  he  remain  constant  ?  Tell 
him  that  when  I  come  back  from  Italy  I  think  we  shall  be  about 
big  enough  to  commence  house-keeping.  Kiss  all  the  little  fel- 
lows for  me,  and  tell  them  that  Cousin  Emily  would  cry  her  two 
eyes  out  if  they  should  forget  her.  ...  All  unite  in  send- 
ing love,  and  please  accept  for  yourself  an  extra  share  from 
Yours  very  sincerely  and  affectionately, 

E.  E.  C. 

TO    HER    SISTER. 

Utica,  July  9, 1845. 

Dear  Kitty, — 

I  was  glad  enough  to  get  your  letter  I  can  assure  you,  for 
I  had  got  almost  crazy  about  mother.  ...  I  am  not  able 
to  write  any  yet,  and  think  I  shall  not  attempt  it  again  until  I 
come  home  in  vacation.  Then  I  intend  to  "  put  in."  I  have 
been  making  arrangements  about  getting  my  book  published, 
or  rather  have  written  to  Gen.  Morris  about  procuring  a  pub- 
lisher for  me,  and  I  shall  want  some  of  the  stories  that  are  in 
your  hands  as  I  am  too  stingy  to  buy  the  magazines  over  again. 
I  want  "The  Bank  Note,"  "The  Peep  within  Doors,"  "Nickie 
Ben,"  "  Two  Nights  in  New  Niederlands,"  and  "  Grace  Linden." 
I  believe  I  have  all  the  rest.  I  want  you  to  cut  them  from  the 
magazines  and  send  them  by  the  first  opportunity. 

I  have  an  invitation  from  Mrs.  Nott  to  attend  commencement, 
and  shall  go  down  week  after  next,  if  I  am  well  enough.  I  an- 
ticipate a  rare  time.     .     .     . 

Emily  spent  a  part  of  the  summer  vacation  in  a  little 
excursion  through  some  parts  of  Central  New  York,  vis- 
iting Cooperstown,  the  romantic  home  of  the  novelist 
Cooper,  and  subject  to  the  doubtful  pleasure  of  being 
'^  annoyingly  lionized.'*  The  remainder  of  the  vacation 
she  spent  in  her  quiet  home  in  Hamilton. 


134  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

The  foil  wing  is  an  extract  from  a  letter  of  Mr.  Willis, 
written  at  this  time.  It  is  alike  just  in  its  sentiments, 
and  shows  his  estimate  of  one  phase  of  her  character. 

FROM   N.    p.    WILLIS. 

September  2T,  1845. 

.  .  .  You  ask  me  whether  you  shall  marry  for  conveni- 
ence. Most  decidedly,  no !  What  convenience  would  pay  you 
for  passing  eighteen  hours  out  of  every  twenty-four  for  the  rest 
of  your  life,  within  four  walls,  in  company  with  a  person  not  to 
your  taste  ?  I  judge  of  you  by  myself.  I  would  not  pass  one 
year  thus  for  any  fortune  on  earth.  The  private  hours  of  one 
single  month  are  too  precious  for  any  price  but  love.  Think 
how  little  of  the  day  poverty  can  touch  after  all.  Only  the 
hours  when  you  are  out  of  your  chamber.  But  the  moment 
your  chamber  door  is  shut  on  you  alone,  all  comparison  between 
you  and  the  richest  is  at  an  end.  Let  the  majority  of  women 
marry  for  convenience,  if  they  will ;  but  you  are  brim-full  of 
romance,  and  delicacy,  and  tenderness,  and  a  marriage  without 
love,  for  you,  would  be  sealing  up  a  volcano  with  a  cob-web. 
You  must  love — you  must  and  will  love  passionately  and  over- 
poweringly.  You  have  as  yet  turned  but  one  leaf  in  a  volume 
of  your  heart's  life.  Your  bosom  is  an  altar  on  which  there  is 
a  fire  newly  lit — lit  by  the  late  and  sudden  awakening  of  your 
genius.  Your  peculiarity  is  that  your  genius  has  its  altar  on 
your  heart,  and  not  like  other  people's,  in  the  brain.  Take  care 
how  you  throw  away  the  entire  music  and  beauty  of  a  life  for 
only  a  home  that  will  grow  hateful  to  you.  I  warn  you  that 
you  must  love  sooner  or  later. 

In  reading  over  the  last  page  I  find  that  I  have  advised  you 
to  a  course  that  will  keep  you  at  work  for  the  present.  But  let 
it  be  so.  You  are  lifting  yourself  up  through  a  stratum  of  val- 
uation at  every  struggle,  and  leave  off  when  you  will,  it  will  be 
better  than  having  left  off"  before.     .     .     . 


THE   CONVALESCENT.  135 

On  Emily's  return  to  Utica,  her  health  being  still  deli- 
cate, she  was  obliged  to  commit  to  other  hands  the  duties 
of  her  department,  reserving  to  herself  merely  its  general 
superintendence.  Her  complaints  continued  so  obstinate, 
and  her  system  so  frail,  that  it  was  again  deemed  advis- 
able for  her  to  soften  the  rigors  of  the  winter  by  seeking 
during  the  few  weeks  of  the  later  autumn  her  former 
asylum,  Philadelphia,  the  way  not  being  opened  for  re- 
alizing her  conception  of  spending  the  winter  "where 
the  oranges  grow,  and  they  have  myrtles  in  winter  time." 
A  tropical  winter  was  indeed  soon  to  come,  but  in  a  way 
of  which  she  had  not  as  yet  the  remotest  dream. 

The  arrangements  alluded  to  in  her  letter  to  her  sister 
had  meanwhile  been  consummated,  and  a  volume  con- 
taining her  principal  magazine  sketches,  was  brought  out 
by  Paine  &  Burgess,  of  New  York,  under  the  title  of 
"Trippings  in  Author  Land."  I  need  not  repeat  my 
estimate  of  its  merits,  and  the  public  verdict  upon  it  had 
been  given  in  advance. 

In  October  Emily  proceeded  to  Philadelphia,  spending, 
on  the  way,  a  few  days  in  New  York,  where  her  friends, 
both  literary  and  personal,  were  lavish  of  their  atten- 
tions. In  Philadelphia,  her  former  hosts,  the  Gillettes, 
again  threw  open  to  her  their  hospitable  doors,  and  re- 
ceived her  as  if  she  had  been  a  friend  of  years.  Those 
also  who  had  contributed  so  largely  to  her  enjoyment  in 
the  spring.  Dr.  E.  W.  Oris  wold,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Graham, 
Joseph  C.  Neal,  and  many  other  friends,  both  literary 
and  religious,  welcomed  her  return  to  their  circle. 

Among  other  gentlemen  who  were  attracted  to  her 
society  was  Mr.  Horace  Binney  Wallace,  with  whom  she 
formed  an  acquaintance  equally  dehghtf?il  and  improv- 
ing.   Mr.  Wallace  belonged  to  one  of  the  highest  families 


&J 


136  LIFE    OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

of  Philadelphia.  His  polished  and  gentlemanly  bearing 
his  broad  culture  and  sound  judgment,  his  ripened 
knowledge  of  the  world,  his  taste  at  once  enthusiastic 
and  discriminating,  made  a  profound  impression  on  her 
fresh  and  susceptible  intellect,  while  he  in  turn  perceived 
all  the  delicate  beauty,  and  as  yet  half-latent  capacities 
of  her  opening  genius.  She  writes  thus  of  Mr.  Wallace 
in  one  of  her  letters  : 

"  He  is  a  man  of  talent,  a  scholar,  and  a  perfect  gentleman ; 
refined,  high-bred,  delicate,  and  manly.  He  is  not  handsome ; 
that  is,  there  is  nothing  striking  in  his  appearance ;  but  he  has 
a  very  intellectual  look,  and  a  peculiarly  sweet  expression.     He 

is  about  as  large  as ;  has  an  easy,  gentlemanly  carriage, 

and  never  does  any  thing  awkward.  .  .  .  He  is  an  excellent 
critic,  not  only  of  books,  but  of  painting,  sculpture,  etc.  His 
conversation  is  more  improving  and  interesting  (combining  the 
two  beautifully)  than  any  man's  I  ever  met." 

Mr.  Wallace  deserved  even  more  than  these  enco- 
miums. The  few  products  of  his  genius  which  he  has 
left  behind,  distinguished  alike  by  originality,  depth, 
and  acuteness,  by  a  fine  command  of  language,  and 
the  genial  catholicity  of  taste  which  marks  the  true 
scholar,  prove  him  capable  of  reaching  the  very  highest 
walks  of  literary  criticism,  and  show  that  his  sad  and 
untimely  end  snatched  from  his  country's  annals  one  of 
their  brightest  prospective  ornaments.  Mr.  Wallace  ad- 
mired exceedingly  the  "  fascinating  delicacy"  of  Emily's 
character,  and  the  freshness  and  originality  of  her  genius. 
The  following  paragraphs,  taken  from  a  notice  of  "  Fanny 
Forester,"  in  his  "  Literary  Criticisms,"  will  show  his 
estimate  of  her  powers  : 


THE    CONVALESCENT.  137 

"  She  possesses  many  talents ;  and  an  assemblage  of  lesser 
accomplishments,  which  in  her  seem  to  be  so  genuine  and  in- 
stinctive, that  they  might  almost  be  mistaken  for  natural 
talents.  The  movements  of  her  mind  have  a  quiet,  soft  bright- 
ness that  seems  to  shine  for  itself  rather  than  for  others,  and  to 
be  spontaneous  more  than  exerted ;  glowing,  apparently,  with- 
out design,  and  almost  in  despite  of  consciousness.  Her  powers 
of  reasoning  are  strong ;  her  feelings  prompt  and  abounding ; 
her  sense  of  humor  quick  and  various — but  these  and  other 
faculties  are  subordinated  in  their  exercise  to  a  delicacy  of  char- 
acter and  taste,  ethereal  almost  in  sensibility,,  and  timorous, 
even  painfully,  of  every  offense  against  refinement, — the  deep- 
est, surest  fascination  that  can  belong  to  a  woman ;  beautiful  in 
the  errors  it  may  lead  to,  and  most  enchanting  perhaps  when  it 
is  most  in  excess ;  whose  power  is  as  enduring  as  the  pleasure 
which  it  imparts  is  pure  and  exquisite.  But  there  are  secondary 
qualities,  going  rather  to  the  manner,  than  to  the  nature  or  de- 
gree of  that  capacity  which  we  desire  to  define  as  constituting 
a  great  and  splendid  faculty  in  this  gentle  and  modest  person. 
"We  regard  her  as  possessing  talents  for  narrative  of  a  very  high 
and  rare  order — talents  which  place  her  in  the  front  rank  of 
writers  of  dramatic  fiction  on  either  side  of  the  water."    .    .    . 

"  We  are  desirous  to  see  the  fine  and  varied  faculties  which 
this  lady  unquestionably  possesses  exerted  upon  some  extensive 
and  sustained  work  of  fiction  upon  which  all  her  powers  may 
be  fully  concentrated  and  tested.  She  lingers  below  her  des- 
tiny in  being  contented  with  even  the  greatest  popularity  ;  the 
native  and  true  atmosphere  of  her  renown  is  in  the  regions  of 
fame." 

With  such  encouragements,  and  under  the  unrelenting 
spur  of  necessity,  Emily  devoted  herself  afresh,  so  far  as 
her  delicate  health  allowed,  to  composition  ;  and  she 
might  well  feel  justified  in  looking  forward  to  a  brilliant 
future.     The  "  glittering,  bow"  of  promise,  fame,  arched 


138  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

the  heaven  of  our  literary  neophyte,  and  who  can  say 
what  "visions  of  sj)lendor  that  bloomed  but  to  fade'' 
were  weaving  their  enchantments  round  her  heart  ?  But 
Providence  had  in  store  for  her  a  different  destiny — a 
harder  ascent  to  a  sublimer  eminence.  Via  lucis,  via 
crucis — her  way  of  light  was  to  be  the  way  of  the  cross. 

"I  dreamed  of  celestial  rewards  and  renown  ; 

I  grasped  at  the  triumph  that  blesses  the  brave ; 
I  asked  for  the  palm-branch,  the  robe,  and  the  crown ; 
I  asked — and  thou  show'dst  me  a  cross  and  a  grave." 

Mild  as  was  the  climate  of  Philadelphia,  the  cold 
weather  still  affected  Emily  so  seriously,  inducing  cold 
and  cough  upon  the  slightest  exposure,  that  she  at  length 
yielded  to  the  persuasions  of  her  friends,  and  determined 
to  pass  the  winter  in  that  city.  The  Gillettes,  though 
at  the  expense  of  considerable  domestic  inconvenience, 
proffered  warmly  the  comforts  of  their  home,  and  others  • 
were  urgent  for  a  portion  of  her  time.  The  following 
note  to  Mrs.  Nott  gives  a  glimpse  of  her  employments  : 

December  23, 1845. 

My  Dear  Mrs.  Nott, — 

I  meant  to  have  written  you  a  long  time  ago,  and  really 
commenced  a  letter ;  but  I  have  been  O,  so  busy  !  Did  you 
receive  the  magazine  which  I  sent  you,  containing  the  story  of 
Willard  Lawson  ?  Well,  I  have  been  requested  to  re-write  it 
for  a  Sunday-school  book,  and  have  been  engaged  in  that  and 
some  magazine  things,  hardly  giving  myself  thinking  time.  I 
am  very  agreeably  situated  in  Mr.  Gillette's  family,  rooming 

with  F .     They  are  dear,  good  people,  amiable,  kind,  and 

warm-hearted,  and  we  could  not  have  a  pleasanter  place  to  stay. 
I  had  intended  to  leave  them  and  stay  with  another  family,  but 
they  would  not  hear  to  it  at  all.  .  .  .  Mr.  Gillette  has  been  to 


THE    CONVALESCENT.  139 

Boston,  and  we  are  expecting  him  back  to-morrow  with  Dr. 
Judson.  We  are  promising  ourselves  a  rare  treat  in  the  com- 
pany of  the  good  missionary.  .  .  .  My  health  is  very  good  in- 
deed, though  not  quite  equal  to  what  it  was  when  I  left  Utica. 
The  cold  weather  is  rather  hard  upon  me,  and,  indeed,  I  don't 
know  what  I  should  have  done  there,  away  among  the  snows. 
It  has  been  severely  cold  here  for  a  few  days  past,  and  it  quite 
shrivels  me  up. 

Mrs.  Gillette  and  F both  send  love,  and  more  kind  wishes 

than  they  seem  to  know  exactly  how  to  put  into  words.  Plea.se 
remember  me  kindly  to  your  good  Doctor,  and  believe  me,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Nott, 

Ever  sincerely  and  affectionately  yours, 

E.  Chubbuck. 

P.  S.  They  were  talking  to  me  while  I  was  writing,  and  so  I 
have  written  your  letter  not  only  upside  down,  but  wrongside  out 
and  backside  before.     I  hope  you  will  be  able  to  find  your  way. 

This  letter  foreshadows  the  approaching  change  in  her 
destiny — a  change  whose  first  realization  startled  alike 
herself,  her  friends,  and  the  public,  both  literary  and  re- 
ligious, that  had  watched  with  interest  the  rising  star  of 
her  genius  and  fame.  Her  literary  friends  were  planning 
for  her  abundant  occupation,  and  urging  her  to  some 
work  of  larger  pretension  and  higher  flight  than  mere 
magazine  stories.  Her  reputation  in  her  own  depart- 
ment of  literature  was  established  ;  her  conversation, 
freed  from  the  shackles  of  that  timidity  which  embar- 
rassed her  first  entrance  into  society,  was  becoming 
scarcely  less  racy  than  her  writings,  and  doing  justice  to 
her  fine  practical  sense  and  brilliant  imagination ;  and 
her  genius  and  personal  accomplishments  were  becoming 
a  passport  to  the  most  intelligent  and  refined  circles. 
Never  before,  probably,  had  life  looked  so  bright ;  never 


140  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

had  a  career  of  honorable  and  not  unuseful  distinction 
shaped  itself  into  so  definite  certainty ;  never  had  the 
world  presented  so  much  to  attract ;  never,  perhaps, 
during  her  Christian  career,  had  heaven  receded  into  so 
dim  a  distance,  and  "  the  powers  of  the  world  to  come" 
held  so  feeble  possession  of  her  soul. 

But  she  was  led  by  ways  that  she  knew  not.  Her 
visions  of  literary  fame  were  to  be  exchanged  for  pros- 
pects on  which  lowered  the  darkest  and  sternest  realities. 
The  thorns  that  had  strewn  her  earlier  pathway  were  but 
to  anticipate  the  hardships  of  her  later  lot — a  lot  softened 
only  by  the  sweets  of  devoted  love — brightened  only  by 
the  radiance  from  an  unseen  world.  How  seductive 
would  have  proved  the  lures  of  worldly  fame  :  how  far 
its  illusory  splendor  might  have  eclipsed  to  her  vision 
the  brightness  that  rests  on  the  heavenly  hills,  we  may 
not  know.  From  the  dreams  of  first  fame  she  would 
ere  long  have  awakened  ;  her  "  dissatisfied  spirit"  would 
have  broken  the  spell  of  its  enchantment,  and  spiritual 
things  have  reasserted  their  supremacy  in  her  soul ;  for 
that  soul  had  been  touched  and  transformed  by  a  rod 
more  potent  than  that  of  any  earthly  enchanter.  But 
from  the  perils  of  the  trial  Providence  mercifully  deliv- 
ered her.  It  brought  upon  the  stage  a  new  actor,  whose 
gentle  but  powerful  attractions,  whose  commanding  in- 
tellect and  fine  culture,  harmonized  and  exalted  by  a 
fervid  piety,  proved  mightier  than  literary  ambition,  or 
the  claims  of  merely  earthly  usefulness,  and  drew  her 
away  from  a  career  of  growing  worldliness  to  a  path 

"  All  rugged  with  rock,  and  all  tangled  with  thorn," 

but  on  whose  difficult  ascent  was  shed  the  deepening 
brightness  of  immortality. 


CHAPTER    X. 

THE       BETEOTHAL. 

"Ask  me  no  more,  thy  fate  and  mine  are  sealea; 
I  strove  against  the  stream,  and  all  in  vain; 
Let  the  great  river  take  me  to  the  main. 
No  more,  dear  love,  for  at  a  touch  I  yield; 
Ask  me  no  more  !" 

In  the  spring  preceding,  Rev.  Dr.  Judson  had  been 
obliged  to  leave  India  by  the  alarming  illness  of  his  wife, 
the  lovely  widow  of  the  sainted  missionary,  Boardman. 
The  flattering  hopes  excited  by  the  commencement  of  the 
voyage  were  soon  dissipated,  and  instead  of  parting  upon 
the  "gi'een  islet,"  as  anticipated  in  her  precious  little 
gem  of  song,  he  "for  the  eastern  main,""  they  bent  their 
united  way  toward  "the  setting  sun.""  But  she  died 
upon  the  passage,  and  the  vessel  reached  St.  Helena  just 
in  season  to  enable  the  veteran  hero  of  the  cross  to  de- 
posit his  precious  treasure  in  that  "rock  of  the  sea," 
which  had  been  the  prison  and  the  grave  of  the  great 
hero  of  the  sword.  Having  rendered  to  the  dear  remains 
the  last  obsequies,  he  proceeded  on  his  voyage,  and  in 
October,  1845,  landed,  after  an  absence  of  nearly  thirty- 
four  years,  on  his  native  shores.  We  need  not  follow 
his  movements  up  to  the  point  where  his  history  links 
itself  with  that  of  Miss  Chubbuck.     A  rapturous  en- 


142  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

thusiasm  every  where  greeted  his  coming,  and  upon  his 
whispered  words  of  consecrated  eloquence  listening  thou- 
sands hung  as  upon  the  accents  of  an  angel. 

In  December,  being  in  Boston,  he  was  requested  to 
attend  a  series  of  missionary  meetings  in  Philadelphia, 
and  Kev.  Mr.  Gillette,  Emily's  host,  went  on  to  Boston 
to  secure  his  presence.  On  their  way  between  New  York 
and  Philadelphia,  a  slight  railroad  accident  detained  them 
two  or  three  hours,  and  to  relieve  the  tedium  of  the  de- 
lay, Mr.  Gillette,  seeing  a  volume  of  the  newly  published 
"  Trippings"  in  the  hands  of  a  friend,  borrowed  it,  and 
handed  it  to  Dr.  Judson.  He  hesitatingly  took  it,  the 
title  not  promising  a  work  specially  to  his  taste  ;  but 
carelessly  opening  it,  he  soon  found  his  attention  riveted 
by  the  grace  of  the  style,  and  the  truth  and  sprightliness 
of  the  narrative.  On  Mr.  Gillette's  returning  to  him,  he 
inquired  who  was  the  author  of  the  book,  adding  that  it 
was  written  with  great  beauty  and  power — reiterating 
emphatically,  with  great  beauty  and  power.  He  asked 
if  the  lady  was  a  Christian,  and  being  informed  that  she 
was,  said  :  "I  should  be  glad  to  know  her.  A  lady  who 
writes  so  well  ought  to  write  better.  It  is  a  pity  that 
such  fine  talents  should  be  employed  upon  such  subjects." 
Mr.  Gillette  replied  that  he  would  soon  be  able  to  make 
her  acquaintance,  as  she  was  then  an  inmate  of  his  own 
house.  "Is  she  a  Baptist.?"  asked  Dr.  Judson;  and 
being  answered  affirmatively,  he  renewedly  expressed  his 
desire  to  see  and  converse  with  her,  as  it  was  a  pity  that 
talents  so  brilliant  should  not  be  more  worthily  employed. 
They  arrived  in  (or  out  of)  due  time  at  Philadelphia, 
and  Dr.  Judson  was  welcomed  to  the  house  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  W.  S.  Kobarts,  who  became  warm  personal  friends, 
as  they  were  already  active  friends  of  the  mission  cause. 


THE    BETROTHAL.  143 

Promptly  on  the  next  day  he  came  over  to  Mr.  Gil- 
lette's. Emily  (in  her  morning-dress)  was  submitting  to 
the  not  very  poetical  process  of  vaccination.  As  soon  as 
it  was  over,  Dr.  Judson  conducted  her  to  the  sofa,  say- 
ing that  he  wished  to  talk  with  her.  She  replied  half 
playfully  that  she  should  be  delighted  and  honored  by 
having  him  talk  to  her.  With  characteristic  impetu- 
osity he  immediately  inquired  how  she  could  reconcile 
it  with  her  conscience  to  employ  talents  so  noble  in  a 
species  of  writing  so  little  useful  or  spiritual  as  the 
sketches  which  he  had  read.  Emily's  heart  melted  ;  she 
replied  with  seriousness  and  candor,  and  explained  the 
circumstances  which  had  drawn  her  into  this  field  of  au- 
thorship. Indigent  parents,  largely  dependent  on  her 
efforts — years  of  laborious  teaching — books  published 
with  but  little  profit,  had  driven  her  to  still  new  and 
untried  paths,  in  which  at  last  success  unexpectedly 
opened  upon  her.  Making  this  employment  purely 
secondary,  and  carefully  avoiding  every  thing  of  doubtful 
tendency,  she  could  not  regard  her  course  as  open  to 
serious  strictures.  It  was  now  Dr.  Judson's  turn  to  be 
softened.  He  admitted  the  force  of  her  reasons,  and  that 
even  his  own  strict  standard  could  not  severely  censure 
the  direction  given  to  filial  love.  He  opened  another 
subject.  He  wished  to  secure  a  person  to  prepare  a  me- 
moir of  his  recently  deceased  wife,  and  it  was  partly, 
in  fact,  with  this  purpose  that  he  had  sought  Emily's 
acquaintance.  She  entertained  the  proposition,  and  the 
discussion  of  this  matter  naturally  threw  them  much  to- 
gether during  the  ensuing  few  days.  The  consequences 
of  the  coming  together  of  two  persons  respectively 
so  fascinating,  were  what  has  often  occurred  since  the 
days  of  Adam  and  Eve.      They  became  mutually  in- 


144  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

terested.  Dr.  Judson  discovered  in  her  not  only  rare  in- 
tellectual powers,  but  a  warm  heart,  an  enthusiastic  and 
richly  endowed  nature  that  throbbed  in  sympathetic 
unison  with  his  own.  That  she  was  not  in  the  exercise 
of  that  living  piety — those  high  spiritual  graces  so  essen- 
tial in  the  missionary,  and  scarcely  less  in  the  mission- 
ary's wife,  he  saw  with  pain  ;  but  detecting  in  her  expe- 
riences the  undoubted  germs  of  genuine  faith,  he  soon 
conceived  the  idea  of  her  not  only  writing  the  life,  but 
taking  the  place  of  the  sainted  deceased.  Having  reached 
this  conclusion,  he  pressed  the  subject  upon  her'with  aL 
the  energy  of  his  impassioned  and  most  truthful  charac- 
ter. He  painted  to  her  the  glories  and  the  deformities 
of  the  Orient ;  its  moral  desert  in  a  wilderness  of  luxu- 
riant beauty.  He  set  forth  the  -^oils  and  privations  of 
the  missionary's  lot,  and  over  against  this,  the  privilege 
of  being  a  reaper  in  the  great  moral  harvest  of  the  world  ; 
the  blessedness  of  those  who  turn  many  to  righteousness  ; 
the  glory  of  that  coming  world  whence  faith  already 
draws  many  a  presaging  token  of  bliss. 

It  was  not  in  Emily's  nature  to  be  insensible  to  the 
force  of  such  arguments  from  such  a  pleader — ^falling 
from  "  lips  wet  with  Castalian  dews,"  as  well  as  with  the 
dews  that  descend  upon  the  mountains  of  Zion — coming 
from  one  whose  tastes  were  as  cultivated  as  his  faith  was 
lofty,  and  who  could  appreciate  equally  the  fascinations 
which  he  asked  her  to  resign,  and  the  glories  to  which 
he  asked  her  to,  aspire.  Yet  a  revolution  in  her  des- 
tiny so  sudden  and  total,  so  complete  a  reversal  of  her 
plans,  filled  her  with  perplexity  and  almost  alarm.  Her 
family  friends — ^her  literary  friends — ^her  religious  friends, 
and  above  all  that  ubiquitous,  myriad-headed,  myriad- 
tongued  personage  called  the  World — what  would  they 


THE   BETROTHAL.  145 

say  upon  hearing  that  Fanny  Forester,  the  popular 
magazinist  was  about  to  turn  her  back  on  her  newly 
commenced  career,  and  quench  her  rising  fame  in  the 
night  of  heathenism  ?  Above  all — and  here  was  the 
stress  of  the  conflict — she  weighed  her  spiritual  deficien- 
cies— ^her  want  of  that  deep  consecration  so  imperatively 
demanded  in  one  who  lays  hands  on  the  sacred  ark  of 
the  missionary  cause.  She  had  declined  from  her  earlier 
consecration,  and  the  path  which  she  once  sought  the 
privilege  of  treading,  it  now,  as  she  afterwards  declared, 
"  seemed  like  death  for  her  to  enter."  She  urged  these 
objections  upon  Dr.  Judson  ;  but  he  overruled  them  with 
the  impetuous  logic  which  characterized  his  energetic 
career,  and  laid  upon  her  the  spell  of  a  nature  that  com- 
bined what  is  holiest  in  the  saint  with  what  is  most  at- 
tractive in  the  man.  Time,  too,  with  him  was  pressing  : 
he  longed  to  be  back  to  the  scene  of  his  life-labors  ;  the 
children  that  he  had  left  behind  pleaded  eloquently  for  a 
mother  ;  and  in  the  gifted  young  lady  whom  he  at  first 
intended  merely  to  secure  as  the  biographer  of  his  lament- 
ed Sarah,  he  saw  one  well  fitted  to  take  her  place  as  a 
mother,  as  well  as  to  meet  the  yearnings  of  his  intellect 
and  heart.  The  rapid  decision  to  which  they  aiTived 
sprang  from  a  conscious  congeniality  of  temper  and  en- 
dowments. The  ripe  experience,  the  mellow  wisdom, 
the  ardent  piety  of  Dr.  Judson  were  combined,  amidst 
all  the  severities  of  his  missionary  consecration,  with  an 
inextinguishable  warmth  of  heart,  a  delicacy  of  taste,  and 
a  breadth  of  culture  which  recognized  in  Emily  answer- 
ing qualities,  and  drew  him  to  her  with  all  the  warmth 
of  his  singularly  gifted  and  susceptible  nature,  while  they 
in  turn  stirred  her  deepest  fountains  of  reverence  and  love. 
Dr.  Judson  was  now  fifty-seven.    But  one  needed  only 

7 


146  LIFE   OF    MES,    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

to  look  into  his  dark  eye  beaming  with  benignity,  and 
flashing  with  intelligence,  and  to  listen  to  him,  when,  in 
his  moments  of  unreserve,  he  poured  forth  the  exuber- 
ance of  his  joyous  spirit,  to  see  that  age  had  passed  lightly 
over  him,  and  that  the  dew  of  youth  was  yet  fresh  upon 
his  soul.  That  Dr.  Judson  at  this  age  could  love  with 
the  ardor,  and  almost  with  the  romance  of  a  first  affec- 
tion, instead  of  being  just  matter  of  skepticism  or  re- 
proach, is  in  fact  a  beautiful  tribute  alike  to  the  native 
largeness  of  his  soul,  and  to  the  power  of  that  piety 
which  keeps  the  heart  green  and  youthful ;  which,  by 
husbanding  and  purifying,  preserves  unspent  that  foun- 
tain of  affection  which  libertinism  recklessly  squanders, 
and  keeps  undimmed  and  beautiful  that  "  pearl  of  the 
soul "  which  is  soon  melted  away  "  in  the  lavishing  cup 
of  desire."  Love  to  God  is  the  true  parent  and  preserva- 
tive of  love  to  man — and  to  woman.  In  this  the  sweetest 
blossoms  of  affection  live  and  shed  their  fragrance  long 
after  they  lie  withered  and  dead  in  the  bosom  of  the  sen- 
sualist and  the  worldling.  Byron,  at  the  early  age  of 
thirty-six,  wrote  with  terrible  and  most  instructive  truth : 

My  days  are  in  the  yellow  leaf; 

The  flowers  and  fruits  of  love  are  gone ; 
The  worm,  the  canker,  and  the  grief 

Are  mine  alone. 

Compare  this  desolate  utterance  of  a  palled  and  sated 
spirit  with  the  unaffectedly  warm  and  tender  letters  of 
Dr.  Judson  down  to  his  latest  years :  with  that  death- 
bed utterance  of  his  sixty-second  year,  "0,  no  man 
ever  left  this  world  with  more  inviting  prospects,  with 
brighter  hopes  or  warmer  feelings."  This  is  the  genius 
of  Christianity — such  the  power  of  that  religion  which 


THE   BETROTHAL.  147 

pours  heavenly  oil  on  the  flame  of  earthly  affection,  and 
keeps  the  lamp  burning  undimmed  down  to  the  very 
verge  of  the  sepulchre.  It  is  beautiful  to  see  Dr.  Jud- 
son  ever  linking  in  memory  his  third  wife  with  his  former 
ones,  and  even  in  his  first  avowal  of  affection  blending 
the  three  in  sacred  association.  Nor  did  Emily  feel  that 
love  for  her  demanded  any  restraint  upon  his  expressions 
of  affectionate  remembrance  of  them.  His  unforgetting 
regard  for  them  was  her  surest  guaranty  of  her  own  per- 
manent place  in  his  heart,  and  she  writes  with  equal 
truth  and  beauty : 

For  death  but  lays  his  mystic  spell 

Upon  affection's  earthliness ; 
I  know  that  though  thou  lov'st  me  well, 

Thou  lov'st  thy  sainted  none  the  less. 

The  following  little  note  contains  Dr.  Judson's  formal 
avowal  of  attachment.  It  seems  half  like  sacrilege  to 
lift  the  veil  upon  a  thing  so  sacred  as  a  marriage  propo- 
sal ;  but  this  interweaves  so  ingenious  and  graceful  a 
memorial  of  his  former  wives,  and  in  its  delicate  playful- 
ness illustrates  so  admirably  a  large  element  in  his  char- 
acter which  found  little  scope  in  his  ordinary  correspon- 
dence, that  the  reader  will  pardon  its  publication. 

January  20, 1846. 

I  hand  you,  dearest  one,  a  charmed  watch.  It  always  comes 
back  to  me,  and  brings  its  wearer  with  it.  I  gave  it  to  Ann 
when  a  hemisphere  divided  us,  and  it  brought  her  safely  and 
surely  to  my  arms.  I  gave  it  to  Sarah  during  her  husband's 
life-time  (not^hen  aware  of  the  secret),  and  the  charm,  though 
slow  in  its  operation,  was  true  at  last. 

Were  it  not  for  the  sweet  sympathies  you  have  kindly  ex- 


148  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

tended  to  me,  and  the  blessed  understanding  that  "  love  has 
taught  us  to  guess  at,"  I  should  not  venture  to  pray  you  to  ac- 
cept my  present  with  such  a  note.  Should  you  cease  to  "  guess  " 
and  toss  back  the  article,  saying,  "  Your  watch  has  lost  its 
charm  ;  it  comes  back  to  you,  hut  brings  not  its  wearer  with  if'' 
' — O  first  dash  it  to  pieces,  that  it  may  be  an  emblem  of  what 
will  remain  of  the  heart  of 

Your  devoted,  A.  Jijdson. 

Mrss  Emily  Chttbbuck. 

Emily's  reply  to  this  letter  we  know  only  by  the  re- 
sult. They  were  affianced,  and  on  the  23d  she  writes 
thus  to  her  faithful  friend  Miss  Sheldon  : 

TO    MISS    SHELDON. 

January  24, 1846. 

I  am  so  thankful  to  you,  dear  Miss  C.  for  favoring  this  wild- 
looking  project  of  mine.  My  good  doctor  has  now  gone  away, 
and  I  have  just  said  to  him  the  irrevocable  yes,  though  I  must 
acknowledge  that  I  have  acted  it  slightly  before.  It  was  most 
kind  and  thoughtful  in  you  to  write  to  mother ;  it  will  soften  the 
matter  to  her  greatly,  and  even  then  I  fear  the  result.  You 
think  there  is  a  mysterious  Providence  in  this  singular  proceed- 
ing, and  so  does  Mr.  Gillette.  As  for  the  doctor,  he  finds  in 
it  a  combination  of  circumstances  which  mark  clearly  super- 
natural agency.  He  is  a  blessed  man ;  you  can  not  begin  to 
dream  how  good  he  is,  and  I  suppose  that  I  have  a  good  share 
of  it  yet  to  learn.  Well,  I  shall  have  years  of  at  least  partial 
loneliness  to  learn  in.  Dear  Aunt  C,  I  have  not  taken  this  step 
without  a  great,  great  deal  of  thought,  and  I  would  not  take  it 
but  that  I  believe  the  blessing  of  God  is  in  it.  I  must  acknowl- 
edge indeed  that  I  have  little  of  the  proper  missionary  spirit. 
Perhaps  it  will  increase ;  I  hope  so.  I  would  gladly  be  useful, 
and  this  has  influenced  me  very  much  in  my  decision.  Still  I  do 
not  wish  to  make  any  professions,  and  you  will  find  me  the  same 


THE   BETROTHAL.  149 

as  ever.  But  one  thing  it  may  be  well  to  say  to  you  now. 
Whatever  may  happen — if  I  should  die  on  the  passage — I 
should  not  be  sorry  that  I  went.  In  regard  to  preparations  I 
shall  not  concern  myself,  for  I  know  there  are  kind  and  good 
friends  enough  to  attend  to  that.  Mr.  G.  will,  as  he  says,  "  beg 
the  privilege,"  and  I  shall  leave  the  matter  to  you  and  to  him  ; 
but  I  have  several  debts  at  TJtica,  and  I  am  anxious  to  get  back 
and  see  about  them.  I  do  not  know  exactly  my  resources ;  but 
I  know  they  are  in  a  pretty  bad  state.  For  this  reason  I  have 
declined  going  on  to  Washington,  and  am  very  anxious  to  return 
to  Utica.  I  do  not  even  know  just  how  much  is  due  on  my 
place.  I  shall  have  enough  to  make  out  my  April  payment,  but 
beyond  that  I  am  very  destitute.  I  shall  collect  all  my  "  Fanny 
Forester"  stories,  and  make  as  good  a  bargain  as  I  can.  .  .  . 
My  good  doctor  is  as  attentive  to  my  comfort  as  though  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  luxuries  instead  of  self-denial  and  suffering; 
and  he  proposes  to  me  to  take  out  a  servant  or  humble  com- 
panion, if  I  wish  it.  The  native  servants  are  not  to  be  depended 
upon,  and  I  should,  of  course,  manage  a  house  very  poorly. 
One  thing  the  doctor  says,  if  I  take  out  a  pretty  girl  I  must 
make  her  agree  to  pay  back  the  passage-money  in  case  of  get- 
ting married ;  for  one  of  the  provincial  oflBcers  will  take  her  in 
spite  of  herself.  Please  look  about  you  a  little,  and  help  me  to 
somebody.  If  you  can  contrive  any  way  to  get  me  home,  please 
do  it,  for  I  am  in  great  haste  to  be  among  you.  Tell  grandpa 
he  would  have  been  burned  for  his  prophecy  if  he  had  lived  in 
Salem.  Take  warning  from  my  case,  and  do  not  let  any  more 
of  your  girls  go  away  to  spend  the  winter.  Love  to  all,  espe- 
cially yourself. 

Emily. 

On  the  24th,  Dr.  Judson  left  Philadelphia  for  Wash- 
ington, Richmond,  etc.  From  Washington  he  thus 
writes : 


150  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 


"Washington,  January  25, 1846. 

My  Dearest  Love, — 

Since  closing  my  last  I  have  attended  an  evening  meeting, 
and  had  a  most  interesting  time.  There  was  a  crowded  house, 
and  young  Samson  is  a  truly  eloquent  preacher.  All  passed 
off  well,  except  that  the  most  appalling  praises  were  poured 
out  on  me ;  so  that  I  felt  obliged  to  get  up  and  disclaim  the 
praise,  confess  my  sins,  and  beg  the  people  to  join  me  in  pray- 
ing for  pardon.  But  they  will  not  understand  me ;  they  will 
take  every  thing  the  wrong  way,  and  I  can  not  help  it.  As  to 
yow,  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  me  out  too  soon,  and  understand 
me  too  well.  And  perhaps  you  will  go  to  the  other  extreme, 
as  is  frequently  the  case ;  and — though  it  would  be  no  more 
than  just  retribution — how  could  I  bear  to  see  your  scanty 
sources  of  happiness  in  distant  Burmah  so  grievously  curtailed  ? 
I  can  only  promise  to  try  to  alleviate  your  disappointment  by 
being  as  kind  to  you  as  my  poor  nature  will  permit.  But  I  bgg 
you  will  endeavor  to  rest  your  happiness  on  a  better  foundation 
than  my  love.  There  is,  you  know,  One  that  loves  you  infinitely 
more  than  I  do.  His  love  is  unchanging  and  endless ;  for  with 
Him  is  no  variableness,  nor  shadow  of  turning.  And  when  He 
has  once  set  His  love  upon  a  soul.  He  will  ever  draw  that  soul  to 
Himself.  Have  you  not  found  this  to  be  true  from  the  day  you 
first  loved  the  Saviour,  though  your  love  may  have  been  low 
and  dim,  and  subject  to  occasional  fluctuations  and  eclipses? 
Yet  have  you  not  found  that  the  magnetic  influence  would  never 
leave  you,  and  that  you  can  truly  say, 

"  As,  true  to  the  star  of  its  worship,  though  clouded, 
The  compass  points  steadily  o'er  the  dim  sea, 
So,  dark  as  I  rove  through  this  wintry  world  slirouded, 
The  hope  of  my  spirit  turns  trembling  to  Thee — 
True,  fond,  trembling  to  Thee." 

.     .     .     I  have  been  praying  for  every  blessing  to  rest  on 
you  that  I  think  you  need ;  especially  that  your  mind  may  be 


THE    BETROTHAL.  151 

gradually  drawn  from  every  thing  that  is  dubious,  or  barely 
good,  to  the  better  and  the  best,  and  that,  in  pursuing  "-the 
more  excellent  way"  you  may  not  be  repelled  or  deterred  by  the 
company  you  may  occasionally  meet  on  that  way.  Christ  went 
about  doing  good.  May  it  be  our  glory  to  imitate  His  example ; 
and  in  order  to  this,  we  must  do  good  to  the  evil  and  the  unthank- 
ful. Herein  is  true  glory,  as  the  light  of  eternity  will  show. 
Thine  ever, 

A.  JUDSON. 

TO    DR.    JUDSON. 

January  25,  1846. 

My  Very  Dear  Friend, — 

.  .  .  I  do  not  know  what  to  say  to  you  about  going 
home.  Miss  Sheldon  says  in  a  letter  received  to-day  that  the 
thermometer  ranges  from  six  to  sixteen  below  zero,  and  she 
dare  not  have  me  come.  I  shall  wait  a  little  and  be  governed 
by  the  weather.  In  the  meantime  I  am  very,  very  lonely.  .  .  . 
If  you  were  only  with  me,  I  should  be  happier  than  I  have 
been  in  years.  I  dare  not  look  at  my  future  much  more 
than  at  first,  but  I  trust  myself  to  my  God  and  you — the 
Heavenly  Friend  who  is  all  powerful,  and  the  earthly  one  who 
would  not  deceive  me,  who  loves  me,  I  know,  most  unselfishly — 
and  I  feel  perfectly  secure.  I  thank  God  for  sending  you  to 
Philadelphia,  and  for  giving  me  your  priceless  affection.  I  can 
not  become  worthy  of  it,  but  dear,  dear  doctor,  you  shall  teach 
and  guide  me,  and  I  will  do  the  best  I  can ;  I  can  love  you  at 
least,  and  will. 

Heaven  guard  you ! .  so  prays  your 

Emily. 

to  dr.  judson. 

January  81. 

...  It  was  not  this  which  brought  about  "  a  low  state  of  religi- 
ous feeling."    The  declension  in  religion  came  first ;  and  I  believe, 


152  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

as  I  now  look  back,  that  it  was  occasioned  by  the  wish  to  show 
people  that  I  was  not  the  saint  they  supposed.  You  know  I  carry 
something  of  a  serious  face.  I  had  written  a  little  for  the  Reg- 
ister, and  some  of  my  books  for  children  brought  me  credit  for 
qualities  that  I  did  not  possess.  When  I  was  a  pupil  in  Miss 
Sheldon's  school,  I  was  nick-named  (affectionately,  of  course,) 
"the  little  saint,"  and  when  I  found  people  thought  I  had  so 
much  religion,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  had  none  at  all^ 
and  so  went  about,  to  convince  others  of  it.  I  know  it  was 
wrong ;  but  however  agreeable  flattery  may  be,  it  is  painful  to 
be  praised  for  such  things.  You  must  watch  over  me  now,  and 
not  let  me  take  the  first  step  in  wrong ;  and  may  God  in  heaven 
watch  over  you,  my  dearest  friend. 

TO    DR.    JUDSON. 

January  81. 

Mr.  W.  writes,  in  one  of  his  last  letters,  "  If  you  should  ever 
be  placed  in  circumstances  to  call  it  forth,  the  world  will  find  that 
there  is  stuff  for  a  heroine  hidden  behind  your  partial  development 
by  literature."  I  fancy  he  will  think  me  playing  the  heroine 
sooner  than  he  expected.     That  Burmah  is  a  great  bug-bear. 

Mr.  W e  continues  to  be  "  alarmed."    He  wonders,  if  people 

will  be  missionaries  that  they  do  not  "  select  some  decent  place." 

TO    DR.    JUDSON. 

Philadelphia,  February  7, 1846. 

"  But  art  thou  sure  of  all  the  future  turnings  of  thy  heart  V 
No,  dearest  friend  of  mine,  not  entirely  sure,  for  it  is  a  very 
mysterious  thing ;  but  I  suppose  that  I  have  seen  the  brightest, 
or  rather,  the  most  attractive  side  of  "  gay  and  fashionable  life." 
I  have  seen  it  softened  down,  with  its  most  beautiful  features 
on — nothing  to  shock  or  startle ;  seen  it  in  its  most  poetical 
dress.  You  know  this  has  failed  to  gain  my  entire  heart,  and 
so  you  need  not  fear  the  glitter  for  me.  What  have  you  seen 
in  me  that  could  lead  you  to  suppose  for  one  moment  that  the 


THE  BETROTHAL.  153 

parade  of  fashionable  life  would  be  agreeable  to  me — tbat  it 
would  not  be  annoying  ?  Here  I  have  refused  three  invitations 
to-day :  two  to  dinner  (one  with  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
families  in  the  city),  and  the  other  two  to  a  dashing  party  made 
expressly  for  me.  I  know  it  is  the  general  impression  that  I 
like  gay  society — an  impression  which  I  have  taken  some 
pleasure  in  heightening  rather  than  correcting — but  I  thought 
you  knew  my  tastes  better. 

With  (not  boasting,  but  for  truth's  sake,  I  write  it)  a  very 
wide  power  of  choice — much  more  extensive  than  would  gen- 
erally be  supposed  a  woman  in  my  position,  poor,  and  without 
high  connections,  could  have — I  have  voluntarily,  and  with  but 
a  single  condition,  founded  on  regard  for  you,  said  "  all,  all  your 
own."  ...  Is  it  such  a  very  light  thing  to  adopt  an  entirely 
new  course  of  life — new  in  feelings,  thoughts,  associations, 
every  thing — is  it  such  a  very  light  thing  to  do,  that  I  can 
take  it  all  back  to-morrow,  as  I  could  undo  a  ribbon  that  I  had 
knotted  ?  The  future  certainly  looks  very  dark  to  me,  but  with 
my  hand  in  yours,  if  you  will  only  clasp  it  close,  and  the  cer- 
tainty of  a  place  in  your  heart,  I  can  look  upon  it  courageously. 
Dear  Doctor,  only  love  me,  do  not  see  too  many  faults,  censure 
gently,  lead  me  "  to  the  enjoyment  of  higher  religion,  and  to 
more  extensive  usefulness,"  trust  me,  and  no  place  on  earth  is 
half  so  pleasant  as  "  grim  Burmah."  I  shut  my  eyes  on  all  you 
tell  me  about  it,  because  I  know  that  all  my  conceptions  must 
be  very  imperfect,  and  you  can  make  gloom  or  sunshine  for 
me.  The  place  is  not  what  constitutes  my  home — it  is  your 
presence. 

Emily  now  remained  in  Philadelphia,  impatiently 
awaiting  the  earliest  relaxing  of  the  rigors  of  winter, 
that  she  might  proceed  homeward  as  soon  as  possible. 
On  the  17th  of  February  she  went  to  New  York,  and 
reached  Utica  on  the  20th.  Her  intention  had  been 
to  stop  and  visit  her  friend  Mrs.  Nott,  in  Schenectady, 


154  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

but  the  stormy  weather  forbade.  She  met  a  cordial 
welcome  from  her  friends  in  the  Seminary,  who  entered 
heartily  into  her  new  arrangements,  and  proposed  to 
take  upon  themselves  (her  Philadelphia  friends  joining 
in  it)  the  main  responsibility  of  her  outfit.  She  remained 
in  Utica  until  the  first  week  in  March,  when  she  pro- 
ceeded to  Hamilton,  whither  it*  was  arranged  that  Dr. 
Judson  should  follow  her  for  a  few  days'  quiet  visiting 
with  her  parents  and  family.  He  came  on  the  12th,  and 
spent  a  few  days  in  making  the  acquaintance  of  his 
future  relatives. 

In  giving  a  few  extracts  from  his  and  Miss  Chubbuck's 
correspondence  at  this  time,  I  have  no  wish  to  minister 
to  a  prurient  curiosity,  nor  to  violate  that  principle 
which  would  generally  place  letters  written  during  the 
period  of  an  "  engagement''  under  the  shelter  of  invio- 
late secresy.  The  case,  however,  is  a  peculiar  one ;  and, 
on  the  one  hand,  a  few  extracts  from  Emily's  letters  will 
best  illustrate  the  state  of  mind  in  which  she  entered 
upon  her  new  career,  and  on  the  other,  the  public  will 
be  grateful  for  any  thing  from  Dr.  Judson's  private  cor- 
respondence that  may  with  propriety  be  published — es- 
pecially as  so  little  of  it  has  escaped  destruction.  Dr. 
Judson  was  unquestionably  one  of  the  finest  epistolary 
writers  in  our  language — chaste,  simple,  elegant,  every 
word  selected  with  felicitous  yet  unconscious  precision, 
and  passing  spontaneously  from  delicate  playfulness  into 
those  regions  of  sacred  thought  in  which  he  habitually 
dwelt.  The  selections  from  the  present  correspondence, 
made,  of  course,  with  reference,  not  to  their  literary 
merit,  but  to  their  fitness  for  publication,  can  do  but 
slight  justice  to  his  versatile  epistolary  powers. 

The  world  will  never  appreciate,  until  the  revelations 


THE   BETROTHAL.  155 

of  the  judgment,  the  sacrifices  of  this  remarkable  man — 
what  a  wealth  of  endowments  and  susceptibilties — what 
exquisite  tenderness — what  exuberant  vivacity  and  humor 
— what  capabilities  and  aspirations  after  every  form  of 
worldly  excellence  he  cheerfully  offered  upon  the  altar 
of  the  world's  evangelization.  Not  that  his  case  is 
peculiar,  except  in  degree.  The  intellectually  halt,  and 
blind,  and  feeble,  have  not  been  the  church's  chief  sacri- 
fices at  the  shrine  of  missionary  zeal.  Those  who  have 
led  the  van  in  the  assaults  on  the  gigantic  systems  of 
Paganism,  have  been  generally  fully  as  rich  in  all  the 
elements  of  culture,  fully  as  susceptible  to  the  refine- 
ments and  comforts  on  which  they  turned  their  backs,  as 
those  who  have  stayed  at  home. 

TO    DR.   JUDSON. 

New  Yoek,  Feb.  18, 1846. 

My  Own  Dear  "  Home," — 

I  carried  a  sad  heart  with  me  in  the  cars  yesterday,  not- 
withstanding I  was  on  my  way  to  old  friends.  The  disappear- 
ance of  Philadelphia  seemed  like  the  dissolving  of  a  dream, 
and  I  could  not  make  myself  believe  that  my  relation  to  you,  ■ 
my  prospects,  or  even  my  own  feelings^  were  real.  How  I 
longed  to  have  you  with  me !  I  reached  here  about  two 
o'clock,  my  brain  half  muddled  with  thinking,  and  half  dis- 
posed to  wish  for  drowning,  and  found  Col.  G.  waiting  for  me. 
We  proceeded  here  forthwith  (to  the  Colgates'),  where  I  met 
an  old  school-mate.  Col.  G.  leaves  for  Albany  to-morrow 
morning,  so  I  hope  to  reach  TJtica  Friday  afternoon.  I  find 
myself  very  well  this  morning,  but  think  I  shall  not  go  out 
to-day. 

I  told  you  I  was  troubled  yesterday.  There  is  something  so 
unreal  (sometimes)  in  the  position  in  which  I  find  myself  that 
reflection  becomes  absolutely  painful;  and  I  am  half  tempted  to 


156  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

doubt  my  own  identity.  But  like  the  old  woman  of  tlie  nurs- 
ery rliyme,  I  hope  home  will  dissipate  the  mist.  They  will 
make  it  all  real  when  I  get  to  Utica,  for  they  seem  to  think  it 
a  very  proper  thing  for  me  to  become  a  missionary.  I  thought 
it  a  very  nice  thing,  too,  when  I  went  to  my  room  last  night  and 
laid  my  head  upon  my  pillow,  perfectly  happy.  Things  were 
reversed.  The  bug-bears  haunted  me  in  the  day-time,  and  at 
night  they  fled.  I  seemed  to  feel  that  you  had  been  praying 
for  me,  and  thought  there  was  a  double  guard  of  angels  set  for 
me.  Oh,  I  thank  God  constantly  for  the  sweet  way  in  which 
He  has  chidden  my  follies,  and  pointed  out  a  better  path  for  me 
to  walk  in.  I  have  been  (and  am  still)  a  great  world-lover,  and 
He  might  have  sent  severe  punishment — might  have  led  me  on 
to  find  pain  and  sorrow  in  the  things  I  valued.  But  instead  of 
that  He  has  made  the  way  so  attractive !  He  has  sent  you, 
dearest,  to  love  and  care  for,  to  guide  and  strengthen  me.  I 
believe  what  you  have  so  often  said  that  God  delights  in  the 
happiness  of  his  creatures  ;  and  I  know  that  Burmah  will  be  a 
happier  palace  for  me  than  any  place  on  earth.  Shall  I  not 
have  your  own  arm  there  to  lean  upon,  and  your  own  wisdom 
to  guide  me  ?  Mr.  Hoftman  remarked  when  in  Philadelphia 
that  the  reason  why  literary  women  are  so  universally  unhappy 
is,  they  marry  men  who  can  not  appreciate  them.  He  said  they 
needed  cherishing  and  guidance  more  than  any  other  class — 
that  their  husbands  at  first  thought  them  little  less  than  god- 
desses ;  but,  looking  for  equality  of  excellencies,  a  well-balanced 
character,  and  discovering  striking  defects,  weaknesses,  and  ec- 
centricities, they  soon  come  to  think  them  little  better  than 
fools.  So,  dear,  pray  do  not  think  me  a  goddess,  for  I  must 
have  you  to  think  and  act  for  me ;  but  woe  be  to  the  day  when, 
for  that,  you  call  me  fool.  Then,  just  to  show  you  that  I  am 
not  a  fool,  I  shall  set  up  for  myself,  and  such  a  house  as  we 
^hall  have !     .     .     , 

Emilt. 


THE  BETROTHAL.  157 

TO    MRS.    NOTT. 

Utica  Female  Seminaky,  February,  1846. 

My  Very  Dear  Friend, — 

.  .  .  I  received  a  letter  from  my  good  doctor  on  Satur- 
day, and  shall  expect  him  in  Hamilton  about  the  middle  of 
next  week.  I  think  of  going  myself  on  Thursday.  Kate  ad- 
vises me  not  to  come  so  soon,  as  she  fears  it  will  become  known 
that  I  am  there ;  but  I  am  anxious  to  see  my  mother.  We 
shall  manage  to  pay  you  the  proposed  visit,  if  possible.  If  you 
will  only  see  him  as  I  do  !  I  am  not  afraid  but  that  you  will 
like  him ;  every  body  likes  him.  But  it  is  not  the  wonder,  the 
lion  that  I  care  to  have  you  see ;  it  is  the  refined,  generous, 
high-souled,  strong-minded,  true-hearted  man,  and  the  humble, 
devoted,  unostentatious  Christian.  I  fancy  that  you  will  be 
pretty  sure  that  no  common  man  could  have  made  a  mission- 
ary of  me  ;  and  no  common  man  would  have  had  the  independ- 
ence to  choose  me.  I  will  endeavor  to  behave  as  well  as  I  can  ; 
but  I  must  own  that  I  have  been  twice  surprised — at  seeing 
the  tear  in  the  eye  of  the  careless  worldling,  and  receiving  the 
God-speed  from  his  lips,  and  at  seeing  those  from  whom  I  had 
a  right  to  expect  encouragement  looking  askance  and  doubt- 
ful. I  have  resolved,  however,  not  to  see  any  of  the  latter 
things,  and  I  hope  they  will  not  be  forced  on  my  attention. 

I  must  close  my  letter,  or  Mary  will  be  gone.  Please  re- 
member me  always  kindly,  and  drop  me  a  line  when  you  have 
time.  I  shall  try  hard  to  return  to  those  who  need  it  most  all 
the  kindness  which  you  have  shown  to  me ;  and  however 
lightly  I  may  speak  sometimes,  believe  me,  if  God  spares  my 
health,  I  will  do  good.  I  know  I  can.  I  have  always  felt  that 
I  had  unappropriated  energies,  and,  however  wild  the  notion 
may  seem,  I  think  my  whole  life  has  had  a  tendency  to  prepare 
me  for  this  very  thing.  I  can  see  it  from  the  very  beginning 
to  this  present  winter,  which   I  commenced  so  gayly  in  P. 


158  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

It  has  been,  you  know,  a  peculiar  training,  and  had  I  but  more 
religion !     Give  me  your  prayers,  and  God  help  me  ! 
Ever  yours  affectionately, 

Emily. 

to  horace  b.  wallace,  esq. 

Utioa,  February  23,  1S46. 

My  Very  Excellent  Friend, — 

I  regret  exceedingly  the  malapropos  illness  which  pre- 
vented me  from  seeing  you  again  before  I  took  my  final  leave 
of  Philadelphia,  particularly  as  I  wished  to  have  a  good,  cozy, 
confidential  talk  with  you,  which,  for  reasons  that  you  will 
understand  and  appreciate,  I  deferred  till  a  good-bye  meeting. 

What  induced  you  to  suspect  that  I  was  going  to  Burmah  ? 
Did  you  see  any  thing  missionary-like  in  Fanny  Forester? 
You  don't  know  how  your  suspicion  pleased  and  encouraged 
me ;  for  I  expected  that  the  first  thought  of  my  friends  would 
be  a  lunatic  asylum  and  straight  jacket.  You  were  right.  I 
expect  to  sail  about  the  first  of  July,  and  under  the  protection 
of  Dr.  Judson.  I  am  a  great  admirer  of  greatness — real,  genu- 
ine greatness;  and  goodness  has  an  influence  which  I  have 
not  the  power  to  resist.  I  believe  the  reason  that  I  have  never 
loved  before  (for  I  think  that  I  have  a  somewhat  loving  na- 
ture) is,  that  I  never  saw  the  two  so  beautifully  combined  in 
one  person.  My  good  Doctor's  hair  is  as  black  as  the  raven's 
wing  yet;  but  if  it  were  not,  if  he  were  many  years  older,  it 
would  be  all  the  same  :  I  would  go  with  him  the  world  over. 
There  is  a  noble  structure  within,  singularly  combining  delicacy 
and  strength,  which  will  afford  me  protection  and  shelter  in 
this  world — a  pUce  where  my  own  weak  nature  may  rest  itself 
securely — a  thing  that  never  will  grow  old,  and  that  I  shall 
love  in  eternity.  So  you  see  that,  in  going  to  Burmah,  I  make 
no  sacrifices;  for  the  things  that  I  resign,  though  more  showy, 
are  not  half  as  dear  to  me  as  those  which  I  gain.     I  believe 


THE  BETROTHAL.  159 

that  you  know  women  well  enough,  and  know  this  one  woman 
well  enough,  to  see  clearly  how  that  can  be. 

What  I  have  told  you  is,  perhaps,  enough  to  make  you  un- 
derstand that  I  would  not  object  to  Siberia,  or  Patagonia,  or 
Burmah,  since  my  heart-home  goes  with  me  ;  but  will  you 
believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  find  actual  pleasure  in  the 
thought  of  going  ?  Did  you  ever  feel  as  though  all  the  things 
that  you  were  engaged  in  were  so  trivial,  so  aimless,  that  you 
fairly  sickened  of  them,  and  longed  to  do  something  more 
worthy  of  your  origin  and  destiny  ?  I  can  not  describe  the 
feeling  entirely  ;  but  it  has  haunted  me  for  the  last  six  months, 
sleeping  and  waking — in  the  crowd  and  in  solitude — till,  from 
being  the  most  contented  of  humans,  I  have  been  growing  dis- 
satisfied with  every  thing.  True,  I  had  the  power  to  amuse, 
and  make  some  people  momentarily  happy.  I  tried  to  weave 
some  little  moral  into  all  I  wrote ;  and  while  doing  so,  en- 
deavored to  persuade  myself  that  this  was  sufiicient.  But, 
though  I  seemed  to  convince  myself,  I  was  not  convinced  nor 
satisfied.  Now  it  is  diff'erent.  I  shall  really  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  spending  my  short  life  in  the  way  which  would  make 
me  most  happy — in  doing  real,  permanent  good.  Here,  there 
are  so  many  others  better  and  more  influential  than  myself, 
that  what  little  influence  I  now  and  then  find  myself  capable 
of  exerting,  seems  entirely  lost — is  like  one  leaf  on  the  tree 
which  shelters  you  from  the  sun — of  some  worth  as  part  of  a 
great  mass,  but  comparatively  useless.  There,  every  word  and 
act  will  have  a  very  important  bearing.  The  consciousness  of 
this  will  make  me  more  watchful  of  myself,  more  careful  to  be 
governed  by  the  very  highest  of  principles  and  motives ;  and 
so  a  double  good  will  result.  It  is  the  same  with  my  pen. 
With  all  the  wise  heads  in  the  country  plotting  a  literary  in- 
undation, what  can  the  brain  of  poor,  simple  Fanny  Forester 
effect  ?  There  is  a  great  nation  on  whose  future  character 
every  pen-stroke  will  have  a  bearing.  Doctor  Judson  has 
given  them  the  entire  Scriptures,  written  several  sma^  books  in 


160  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

the  Burmese,  and  has  nearly  completed  a  dictionary  of  the  lan- 
guage. He  will  be  the  founder  of  a  national  literature,  give 
its  tone  (a  pure  and  holy  influence  he  exerts)  to  the  character 
of  a  mighty  people  ;  and  I  must  own'that  I  feel  rather  inclined 
to  thrust  in  my  own  little  finger.  Do  you  wonder?  Do  you 
think  that  I  am  carried  away  by  a  foolish  enthusiasm — a  false 
zeal  ?  or  do  you  think  that  I  have  made  a  sober,  common-sense 
estimate  of  things,  and  decided  wisely  ?  As  to  my  way  of 
living  there,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  deny  myself  many  luxuries 
and  elegancies  which  I  know  I  shall  miss  very  much  at  first, 
for  the  salary  of  a  missionary  is  small ;  but  I  shall  try  to  make 
every  thing  as  tasteful  and  home-like  as  possible,  and  then 
accommodate  myself  to  circumstances. 

I  will  promise  you  not  to  write  a  journal,  for  I  have  no 
greater  fancy  for  holding  up  a  heart-thermometer  before  the 
world  than  you  ;  and  I  don't  think  that  I  shall  be  any  "  wiser," 
or  any  more  in  love  with  wisdom  than  ever.  I  confidently 
expect,  however,  to  be  very,  very  happy ;  and  to  make  a  dear, 
little  home,  which,  if  you  ever  "  go  to  the  Indies  to  make  your 
fortune,"  you  shall  not  think  it  a  very  great  bore  to  visit.  And 
hereby,  Mr.  Wallace,  consider  yourself  invited  to  Maulmain. 
When  may  we  expect  to  see  you  ? 

Please  keep  my  secret  for  me  until  it  becomes  public  ;  and 
let  me  know  that  I  have  your  earnest  and  hearty  God-speed. 
The  approbation  of  my  friends  will  make  the  painful  parting 
from  them  and  the  home  which  I  love,  oh,  so  dearly !  much 
easier.  Probably  I  never  shall  see  you  again  ;  but  whether  I 
do  or  not,  I  shall  think  of  you,  and  the  kind  interest  you  have 
shown  in  me,  often;  and  shall  always  be  your  most  sincere 
friend, 

Emily  Chubbuck. 

Breaking  in  slightly  on  the  order  of  dates,  I  here  sub- 
join Mr.  Wallace's  beautiful  reply.     It  is  a  tribute 


THE  BETKOTHAL.  161 

equally  honorable  to  him  who  wrote,  and  to  her  who 
called  it  forth  : 

FROM    H.    B.    WALLACE,    ESQ. 

Philadelpuia,  March  1, 1846. 

TO     MISS    EMILY     CHUBBTTOK. 

I  have  read  your  beautiful  letter,  dearest  lady,  with  deep 
interest,  and  the  Hveliest  gratification.  If  anything  could  have 
given  increased  enthusiasm  to  the  perfect  respect  with  which  I 
have  regarded  the  pure  and  exquisite  nature  that  was  evidently 
revealed  to  my  admiration  when  I  had  the  happiness  to  become 
acquainted  with  you,  it  would  be  such  new  evidences  of  good- 
ness, and  high  principle,  and  noble  sentiment  as  are  implied  in 
the  intelligence  which  your  letter  communicates.  So  faithful  a 
picture  of  a  refined,  and  elevated,  and  generous  heart,  must 
touch  and  charm  the  feelings  of  every  one  who  has  any  sensi- 
bility to  excellence,  or  any  preception  of  what  is  honorable  and 
great.  I  beg  you  to  permit  the  warmest  congratulations  and 
the  most  earnest  good  wishes  of  one  who  loves  you  as  a  brother? 
and  feels  in  all  that  concerns  your  welfare  the  concern  of  a 
devoted  friend. 

Your  choice  is  worthy  of  you.  It  commends  itself  to  my 
highest  sympathy  and  admiration.  You  always  seemed  to  me 
to  be  too  exalted  and  heaven-like  for  the  mere  affection  of  ordi- 
nary persons;  and  not  to  be  waited  upon  by  them  with  any 
feelings  but  such  as  are  blended  with  something  of  worship. 
You  may  recollect  that  I  said  to  you,  at  the  time  when  I  could 
not  be  suspected  of  a  design  to  flatter,  that  Dr.  Judson  was  one 
of  my  heroes  ;  that  goodness,  such  as  his,  was  the  highest  type 
of  greatness — far  surpassing  all  such  ambition  as  is  founded  on 
views  that  are  limited  by  this  world,  and  beating  down  the 
rivalry  of  such  fame  as  has  in  it  any  admixture  of  vanity.  It 
produces  no  wonder  in  me,  but  the  highest  interest  and  delight, 
to  know  that  your  spirit  is  so  finely  sensitive  to  the  lofty  attrac- 
tions that  belong  to  a  character  and  career  so  disinterested — so 


162  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

sublime.  That  which  first  engaged  my  regard  and  curiosity  in 
relation  to  you,  was  the  fascinating  delicacy  of  thought  and  feel- 
ing which  your  writings  displayed :  what  struck  me  most,  in 
approaching  you  more  nearly,  and  placed  my  respect  upon  a 
higher  and  surer  basis,  was  the  superiority  which  your  nature 
insensibly  always  displayed  to  the  interests  and  excitements  of 
literary  reputation.  That  "pettiness  of  fame  "  which  is  the  glory 
of  so  many,  seemed  to  excite  your  aversion  ;  and  that  which,  in 
other  cases,  is  the  coveted  result  of  authorship,  seemed  to  be  to 
you  the  only  annoying  and  painful  part  of  it.  These  traits  and 
evidences  of  a  lofty  and  noble  nature,  I  appreciated  thoroughly, 
and  understood.  That  your  feelings,  unsusceptible  to  all  that 
addresses  that  portion  of  our  being  which  is  earthly  and  transi- 
itory,  should  respond  so  fully  to  that  which  appealed  to  those 
great  sentiments  of  duty  and  goodness  which  partake  of  the 
eternal,  and  bring  us  into  union  with  what  is  permanent  and 
changeless,  shows  me  that  I  had  not  mistaken  my  gentle 
friend  ;  but  that  she  whom  I  "had  valued  so  highly,  "  deserved 
to  be  dearest  of  aiy 

You  must  acknowledge  that  I  possess  some  discernment, 
since,  from  the  moment  in  which  I  first  heard  the  name  of  this 
eminent  and  honored  person  pronounced  by  your  lips,  I  saw  and 
predicted  the  result.  The  purest  streams  are  the  most  trans- 
parent ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that  I  can  read  your  feelings  and 
their  operations,  with  great  distinctness.  I  hope  that  this  will 
be  a  tie  of  friendship  between  us,  or  at  least  that  you  will  sufi'er 
me  always  to  indulge  those  sentiments  of  proud  and  tender 
interest  in  your  welfare,  which,  perhaps,  I  may  express  more 
strongly  than  you  will  approve,  but  which  are  inseparable  from 
my  recollection  of  you. 

You  speak  of  the  probability  of  my  not  seeing  you  again.  I 
shall  surely  see  you  before  you  take  your  leave  of  shores  where 
your  name  will  long  flourish  with  added  honors  and  new  dis- 
tinction. I  shall  come  to  mingle  my  best  and  brightest  omens 
with  the  "might  of  the  whole  world's  good  wishes,"  that  will  at- 


THE    BETROTHAL.  163 

tend  your  going.  You  will  not  be  separated  entirely  from  me 
in  seeking  the  realities  of  that  Burmah  which  I  pi'ophesied 
would  be  your  destiny ;  for  my  constant  thoughts,  and  earnest 
interest  will  accompany  you,  and,  even  if  your  remembrance 
should  never  visit  me,  will  deprive  you  of  the  power  to  escape 
from  me  entirely. 

I  feel  highly  honored  by  the  confidence  which  you  reposed 
in  me  ;  and  you  may  rely  upon  the  secret  being  faithfully  kept, 
until  it  suits  your  convenience  to  permit  it  to  become  known. 

May  all  your  hopes  be  realized  !  May  all  of  kind  and  good 
that  you  intend  for  others,  be  fulfilled  on  them  and  on  you ! 
May  you  be  happy! — "a  wish  that  came — but  it  hath  passed 
into  a  prayer." 

H.  B.  Wallace. 

TO    DR.    JUDSON. 

Utica,  February  25. 

.  .  .  I  must  own  to  you,' dearest,  now  that  I  am  away 
from  you,  misgivings  will  trouble  me.  I  believe  that  you  love 
me  with  the  whole  of  your  noble  heart ;  but  I  am  afraid,  when 
the  whole  storm  of  wonderment  bursts  upon  us,  you  will — per- 
haps you  will  not  doubt  your  having  acted  wisely — but  I  am 
afraid  you  will  be  very  much  troubled.  I  know  that  there  will 
be  a  great  deal  said — a  great  many  unpleasant  tnings — and 
should  I  not  feel  badly  to  see  you  made  sad  for  a  single  moment 
by  having  taken  such  an  unworthy  creature  to  your  heart?  I 
can  not  make-believe  good  when  I  am  not;  but  I  pray  God 
daily  to  make  me  better  and  wiser,  to  fit  me  for  the  future,  and 
make  me  a  blessing  instead  of  a  curse  to  you  who  have  loved 
me  with  all  my  follies.  I  will  try  to  be  all  to  you  that  I  can, 
and  to  do  all  the  good  that  I  can,  but  I  feel  that  it  would  be 
wicked  cant  in  me  to  sit  down  and  talk  in  the  way  that  the 
multitude  will  expect.  .  .  .  My  thoughts  are  not  for  one 
moment  away  from  you ;  but  I  think  too  little  of  my  Saviour. 
I  do  desire  to  love  Him  better,  but  I  have  a  dull  eye  for  the  in- 


164  *  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

visible.  Still,  pray  for  me,  my  beloved  guide — pray  for  faith, 
spirituality,  and  all  the  good  things  that  I  need.  I  still  think 
more  of  earth  than  heaven,  "  for  I  am  frail ;"  but  I  find  some 
pleasure  in  the  contemplation  of  higher  things ;  and  a  heaven 
with  you,  dearest !  That  is  the  visible  link,  my  love  for  you.  I 
am  not  afraid  of  loving  you  too  much,  for  that  love  is  closely 
connected  with  all  my  better  feelings.  You  freed  me  from  a 
glittering  coil  which  was  growing  irksome  to  me,  and  you  are 
to  be  my  spiritual  teacher.  God  will  lead  us  both,  but  my  hand 
will  be  in  yours.  It  is  His  own  work :  He  sent  you,  and  I 
shall  not  displease  Him  by  clinging  to  you  with  all  the  affection 
He  has  blessed  my  heart  with.  And  you  will  not  disappoint 
ine  when  I  have  none  but  you ;  I  am  sure  you  will  not.  It 
is  a  long  way  to  Burmah,  and  I  have  a  great  many  friends  to 
leave. 

FROM   DR.    JUDSON. 

March  2, 

Your  dear,  precious  letter  has  just  came  in  and  what  a  load 
is  removed  from  my  heart.  Thanks  be  to  God.  But  I  know 
not  when  I  shall  reach  Utica  or  Hamilton.  I  took  a  very  severe 
cold  on  my  way  from  Baltimore,  and  it  has  left  the  worst  cough 
I  have  had  since  arriving  in  the  country.  The  weather  is  dread- 
fully cold,  and  it  is  snowing  here  to  the  terror  of  the  Philadel- 
phians.  And  all  say  that  it  is  infinitely  worse  at  the  north,  and 
the  delay  of  the  mails  shows  that  the  roads  must  be  blocked 
up  with  snow.  I  intended  to  leave  to  day,  as  I  think  I  men- 
tioned in  my  last,  but  it  is  out  of  the  question.  I  may  get  to 
New  York  day  after  to-morrow  if  the  roads  are  opened.  There 
I  shall  hope  to  get  another  letter  from  you,  and  thence  I  shall 
write  you  again.  Don't  think,  however,  that  I  am  ill.  The 
cough  is  merely  the  result  of  a  common  cold — is  much  better 
to-day,  and  will,  I  doubt  not,  with  proper  care  be  removed  in 
a  few  days.  I  am  only  unwilling,  for  your  sake,  to  plunge  into 
too  great  exposure,  and  get  it  settled  on  my  lungs.     I  shall  be 


THE    BETROTHAL.  165 

able  to  reach  New  York  without  much  exposure,  and  I  am  sure 
of  a  warm  house  at  Mr.  Newton's. 

Do,  dearest — most  dear  from  every  letter,  and  every  recol- 
lection— do  erase  that  word  "  misgivings  "  from  %he  vocabulary 
of  your  heart.  "  Storm  of  wonderment " — I  shall  only  exult  in 
it.  "  A  great  many  unpleasant  things  " — my  love  would  not  be 
worth  your  accepting,  if  it  could  be  affected  by  such  things.  I 
have  some  confidence  in  my  love  for  you,  because  I  began  at  the 
bottom  of  the  ladder.  I  loved  you  not  as  a  goddess,  but  as  a 
very  sinful  creature — more  sinful  than  myself.  Now  I  have  dis- 
covered my  mistake,  and  can  I  love  you  less  ? 

FROM    HER    REPLY. 

February  2S,  1846. 

I  do  not  have  "misgivings"  except  on  my  own  account. 
When  I  think  of  my  own  utter  uselessness — my  unfitness  for 
any  thing  except  to  write  stories,  I  can  not  help  being  sad ;  and 
when  I  look  away  over  to  Burmah,  and  see  you  in  your  study, 
and  me  engaged  in  things  that  have  never  interested  me  and 
that  I  do  not  know  how  to  do,  spending  day  after  day  alone, 
ray  very  heart  retreats  in  utter  consternation.  I  do  not  know 
how  I  shall  get  along  with  it.  But  the  Heavenly  Friend  who  I 
believe  has  directed  all  this,  will  be  still  a  better  friend  than  any 
one  on  earth ;  and  you,  dearest,  will  be  considerate  and  patient 
— I  know  you  will.  You  don't  expect  me  to  be  very  good  or 
very  sensible  ;  but  I  shall  take  no  advantage  of  that.  I  will  be 
as  good  and  wise  as  I  can.     God  in  heaven  help  me  ! 


CHAPTER    XI. 

THE     CONSECEATION. 

"I  waste  no  more  in  idle  dreams  my  life,  my  soul  away, 
I  -wake  to  kno'w  my  better  seli^— I  wake  to  watch  and  pray ; 
Thought,  feeling,  time,  on  idols  vain  I've  lavished  all  too  long  ; 
Henceforth  to  'hoUer  purposes  I  pledge  myself,  my  song  !" 

I  DESiGNATi:  this  chapter  "  The  Consecration/'  not  as 
indicating  any;  sharp  separating  line  in  Miss  Chubbuckfs 
Christian  life. .  She  had  not  previously  wasted  her  "  life 
in  idle  dreams,"  nor  did  she  now  rise  at  once  to  the  due 
level  of  missionary  consecration.  Personal  regard  for  Dr. 
Ju^son  was  doubtless  her  first  tie  to  tlie  missionary  life; 
but  it  would  be  strange  that,  in  a  Christian  heart,  con- 
nection with  such  a  man,  and  the  prospect  of  such  a  des- 
tiny, should  not  stir  powerfully  its  slumbering  elements 
and  wake  intenser  religious  aspirations.  Such  was  the 
fact.  Emily  d-eepk"  felt  the  importance  of  rising  from 
the  "  barely  good  to  the  better  and  the  best ;"  of  so 
training  her  spirit  that  she  could  enter  with  her  full  soul 
into  the  glorious  work  which  lay  in  near  view. 

Emily  reached  home — "  the  loggery,"  as  she  playfully 
styled  her  father's  humble  but  very  comfortable  dwelling — 
the  first  week  in  March.  Dr.  Judson  came  a  few  days  later. 
The  news  of  their  engagement  had  of  course  preceded 
them,  and  as  matrimonial  arrangements  are  everybody's 


THE   CONSECRATION.  167 

property  for  comment  and  .strictures,  theirs  could  scarcely 
prove  an  exception.  That  it  should  take:  the  world  by 
surprise— should' startle  .many"  and  grieve  some — is  not 
marvelous.  The  regret  would  naturally  take  two  very 
different  directions.  The  worshipers  of  the  newly  risen 
star  could  not  sufl&ciently  wonder  at  her  stopping  short 
in  the  very  outset  of  her  career,  and  sacrificing  her 
brilliant  prospects  on  the  altar  of  a  fanatical  philan- 
thropy. They  had  no  adequate  words  for  the  infatua- 
tion which  could  buiy  talents,  virtues,  fame,  life  itself  in 
the  sepulchral  glooms  of  heathenism  ;  and  could  hardly 
stigmatize  severely  enough  the  sorceries  by  which  Dr. 
Judsonhad  wrought  upon  that  youthful  heart,  and  lured 
it  to  SO' wanton  a  sacrifice.  The  dark-skinned  inveigler  of 
the  affections  of  Desdemona  was  of  angel  whiteness  com- 
pared with  the  Asiatic  prowler  who  had  decoyed  "  Fanny 
Forester"  into  the  homes  of  the  harbarians. 
•  The  religious  public,  with  whom  the  missionary  enter- 
•prise- stood  in  moral  dignity  incomparably  above  every 
other— to  whom  the  perishing  laurels  of  literary  fame 
"were  worthless  beside  the  amaranthine  wreath  of  piety, 
•would  -fecLvery  differently.  To-  them  the  surprise  was 
that  he  who,  from  his  distant  home,  was  looked  upon 
as  superior  to  the  weaknesses,  and  almost  the  vulgar  vir- 
tues of  ^humanity — ^who  had  been  the  husband  of  Ann 
Hasseltine  and  Sarah  Boardman,  should  take  as  the 
successor  to  that  sainted  pair  a  young  woman — slightly 
known  to  the  religious  world,  and  figuring  in  the  maga- 
zines as  the  most  popular  female  writer  of  polite  litera- 
ture. Little  was  known  of  her  personal  character  ;  next 
to  nothing  of  her  domestic  history.  Her  struggles  for 
long  years  to  support  herself  and  family  by  teaching ; 
her  ill  success  with  her  strictly  religious  books ;   the 


168  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

purely  accidental  character  of  her  association  with  the 
magazines,  and  the  pressing  pecuniary  engagements  which 
compelled  her  to  continue  it ;  and,  above  all,  the  fact 
that  light,  elastic,  playful,  and  exceedingly  readable  as 
were  her  sketches,  they  never  proved  false  to  the  princi- 
ples of  virtue,  and  often  cogently  enforced  some  profound 
and  solemn  truth — all  this  was  generally  unknown  or 
overlooked  by  the  censurers.  Yet  Dr.  Judson  knew  it 
all ;  to  him  her  magazine  reputation  was  a  mere  adven- 
titious thing  which  he  could  not  take  into  account  for 
a  moment  in  estimating  her  fitness  to  become  his  wife, 
except  so  far  as  it  might  shed  light  on  her  moral  or  in- 
tellectual character.  Nor  could  it  be  a  serious  crime  in 
his  eyes  that  she  was  writing  under  an  assumed  name — 
that  the  papers  were  echoing  the  praises  of  "Fanny 
Forester;"  and  that  God  had  given  her  a  genius  to  write 
well  and  brilliantly,  so  as  really  to  have  become  a  literary 
celebrity.  All  this  might  be,  as  it  really  was,  somewhat 
annoying  to  his  sensitive  shrinking  from  notoriety.  He 
would  doubtless  have  much  preferred  to  have  found  her, 
as  she  was  a  year  and  a  half  before,  amidst  the  unobtru- 
sive duties  of  the  Seminary,  and  in  the  comparative  ob- 
scurity of  her  Christian  authorship.  But  inasmuch  as 
she  had  happened  to  be  brilliant,  and  if  he  took  her  at 
all  he  had  got  to  take  her  with  the  drawback  of  a  reputa- 
tion which  was  growing  into  fame,  he  may  be  pardoned 
if  he  took  the  authoress  for  the  sake  of  obtaining  the 
woman — if  he  endured  genius  and  reputation  for  the 
sake  of  uncommon  loveliness  of  mind  and  character. 
In  short,  whatever  may  be  in  a  name — and  there  is  a 
good  deal  in  it — it  would  have  been  hard  to  deprive  Dr. 
Judson  of  a  good  wife,  and  the  world  of  a  good  mission- 
ary, and  send  him  back,  his  mind  all  teeming  with  rich 


THE   CONSECRATION.  169 

fancies  and  richer  affections,  to  his  desolate  exile,  be- 
cause Emily  was  a  woman  of  so  much  humor  and^  so 
much  genius — so  playful  and  so  brilliant — so  exactly 
like  himself,  all  running  over  with  buoyant  and  irre- 
pressible enthusiasm,  that  she  had  first  laughingly 
masked  herself  under  a  noininal  disguise,  and  then 
unexpectedly  made  herself  famous  in  it. 

I  should  be  greatly  misunderstood  if  these  remarks,  on 
which  I  have  hesitatingly  ventured,  should  be  construed 
into  any  thing  like  a  defense  or  apology  for  Dr.  Judson's 
course  in  this  matter.  Marriage  is  a  sacred  thing,  with 
which  the  stranger  intermeddleth  not,  except  imperti- 
nently and  injuriously.  The  question,  who  shall  be  our 
other  self,  our  bosom  companion,  the  repository  of  our 
dearest  confidences,  the  sharer  of  our  inmost  joys — is 
too  sacred,  too  intensely  and  entirely  individual,  to  be 
pronounced  on  even  by  our  best  fi'iends,  much  more  by 
a  necessarily  ignorant  public.  Even  parental  love  and 
guardianship  can  only  decide  negatively,  and  shield  its 
objects  from  the  consequences  of  gross  inexperience  or 
infatuation  ;  when  it  takes  the  positive  position,  and  dic- 
tates to  the  heart  in  what  heart  it  shall  find  its  answer- 
ing life-throb,  it  asserts  an  unwarrantable  privilege  ;  it 
tramples  on  the  fundamental  law  of  wedlock.  There 
lives  not  the  man  or  woman  on  earth,  high  or  low,  in 
any  position,  private  or  public,  secular  or  sacred,  who 
has  a  right  to  sink  this  into  a  mere  question  of  con- 
venience or  of  duty,  and  overlook  the  elements  of  love 
and  mutual  sympathy,  from  which  alone  a  happy  mar- 
riage can  spring.  Assuming  no  gross  violation  of  out- 
ward propriety,  the  question  must  be  left  to  the  decision 
of  the  parties  themselves  ;  and  they  who  can  not  give 
in  a  verdict  of  approval  must  be  content  to  hold  their 

8 


170  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

peace — remembering  that  they  themselves  either  may 
yet  be  or  may  have  been  in  a  situation  to  require  the 
like  forbearance.  Dr.  Judson's  relations  with  Emily 
were  strictly  a  matter  between  himself  and  her — a  mat- 
ter with  which,  public  man  as  he  was,  and  treading  in 
the  shadow  of  a  world-wide  reputation,  the  world  had 
nothing  more  to  do,  in  the  way  of  public  comment  and 
criticism,  than  if  he  had  been  a  boor  dwelling  in  the 
obscurest  nook  in  the  Eocky  Mountains.  Perfectly 
suitable  as  his  marriage  was,  had  it  been  ever  so  unsuit- 
able— I  mean,  no  external  proprieties  being  violated — 
it  was  no  legitimate  matter  of  public  comment.  Emi- 
nently happy  as  it  proved — Chappy  beyond  the  most  of 
even  happy  marriages — ^had  it  been  ever  so  unhappy,  it 
was  nobody's  business  but  their  own  ;  and  the  busy 
tongues,  and,  still  more,  the  busy  pens  that  indulged 
their  strictures  upon  it,  were  not  only  invading  the  peace 
of  two  spirits  as  sensitive  as  they  were  noble,  but  out- 
raging the  universally  recognized  principle  on  which  the 
institution  must  rest,  viz.,  that  in  this  sacred  alliance  of 
the  heart  the  parties  to  it  who  behave  decently  shall  be 
let  alone.  * 

That  Emily  should  deeply  feel  such  comments  can  not 
be  wondered  at.  She  felt  that  in  forsaking  friends  and 
home  for  the  untried  duties  of  a  missionary  she  had 
enough  to  bear,  without  meeting  the  pubUcly-expressed 
doubts  of  those  to  whom  she  naturally  looked  for  sympa- 
thy and  support.  She  entered  on  her  course  with  hesi- 
tancy and  trembling,  and  often  it  seemed  one  of  such 
desperate  rashness  that  she  was  ready,  at  all  events,  to 
turn  back.  But  if  she  knew  her  weakness,  she  knew 
her  strength.  She  had  a  heart  alive  to  all  the  lofty 
graces  of  her  future  husband's  character  ;  a  spirit  to 


THE   CONSECRATION.  171* 

Mndle  at  the  noble  career  which  he  placed  before  her,  and 
that  high,  though  humble  consciousness,  which  true  merit 
always  feels,  of  ability  to  meet,  with  divine  help,  the 
exigencies  of  her  position.  Hence  she  went  forward  with 
steady  foot  and  unfailing  heart  amidst  the  dark  waters 
which  flowed  around  her.  Hence  she  bore  with  lofty 
courage,  though  with  bitter  distress,  the  vaiious  forms 
of  censure  that  assailed  her — the  censures  of  an  unsym- 
pathizing  world — the  much  more  keenly-felt  suspicions 
of  the  religious  public.  From  the  latter  she  shrank  and 
bled  in  silent  anguish  ;  against  the  former  she  threw 
herself  back  on  the  transcendent  intrinsic  nobleness  of 
her  new  vocation.  To  the  inquiry  of  the  National  Press, 
"  Does  she  deem  that  stern  duty  calls  her  to  resign  the 
home  and  friends  of  her  heart — the  fame  which  she  has 
so  gloriousty  won,  nay,  perhaps,  even  life  itself,  for  the 
far-off  heathen  ?  Methinks  the  '  orphans  of  the  heart' 
are  gathered  in  crowds  about  our  very  doors  " — she  re- 
sponded in  a  strain  of  noble  eloquence,  which  needs  but 
the  revision  of  a  few  harsh  lines  to  place  it  among  her 
finest  pieces : 

REPLY. 

"  Stern  duty  ?"     Why  rest  on  the  breast  of  thy  mother  ? 
Why  follow  in  joy  the  proud  steps  of  thy  brother  ? 
Why  flutters  thy  heart  at  the  voice  of  that  other 

Who  calls  thee  from  mother  and  brother  away  ? 
When  the  lip  clings  to  thine,  why  so  fondly  dost  press  itS 
When  the  loved  arm  encircles,  why  smile  and  caress  it  ? 
That  eye's  gentle  glancing — why  doth  thy  heart  bless  it  ? 

Why  love,  trust,  or  labor  for  loved  ones,  I  pray  ? 

There  's  a  Dearer  than  mother,  whose  heart  is  my  pillow, 
A  Truer  than  brother's  foot  guides  o'er  the  billow 


172  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

There 's  a  Voice  I  shall  hear  at  the  grave-guarding  willo-w 
When  they  leave  me  to  sleep  in  my  turf-covered  bed ; 

There  's  a  lip  with  soft  love-words  forever  o'er  flowing, 

An  eye  in  which  love-thoughts  forever  are  glowing, 

A  hand  never  weary  of  guarding,  bestowing, 
A  heart  which  for  me  has  in  agony  bled. 

"  Stern  duty  ?"     No ;  love  is  my  ready  foot  winging ; 
On  duty's  straight  path  love  her  roses  is  flinging ; 
In  love  to  the  friend  of  my  heart  I  am  clinging ; 

My  "  home  "  is  His  smile — my  "  far-oft'"  is  His  frown. 
He  shaped  the  frail  goblet  which  Death  waits  to  shiver, 
He  casts  every  sun-ray  on  life's  gloomy  river. 
They  're  safest  when  guarded  by  Maker  and  Giver — 

My  laurels  and  life  at  His  feet  I  lay  down. 

"  Stern  duty  ?"     Came  death  to  thy  door  a  prey-seeker, 
Markedst  thou  the  eye  glazing,  the  pulse  growing  weaker, 
And  clasped  in  thy  hand  were  a  life  brimming  beaker. 

In  duty,  "  stern  duty,"  the  draught  wouldst  thou  bring  ? 
Sawest  thou  a  rich  crown  to  thy  brother's  brow  bending. 
At  his  feet  a  black  pit,  its  death-vapors  upsending. 
As  thou  sprangst  to  his  side,  thy  voice,  eye,  and  hand  lending, 

Is  it  only  "  stern  duty  "  thy  footsteps  would  wing  ? 

Away  to  my  brother,  the  orphaned  of  heaven ! 
Away,  with  the  life-draught  my  Saviour  has  given  ! 
Away,  till  the  web  time  is  weaving  be  riven ! 

Then  my  wings,  and  my  harp,  and  my  crown  evermore ! 
But  back  this  one  prayer  my  full  spirit  is  throwing, — 
By  these  warm  gushing  tears  that  I  leave  thee  in  going. 
By  all  that  thou  lov'st,  by  thy  hopes  ever  glowing, 

Cheer  thou  the  "  heart-orphans  "  that  throng  at  thy  door ! 

Dr.  Judson  left  Hamilton  on  the  24tli,  Emily  accom-. 
panying  him  to  Utica,  and  thence  she  and  Miss  Anable 


THE   CONSECRATION.  173 

went  to  pay  a  visit  with  him  to  Mrs.  Nott  in  Schenec- 
tady. Dr.  Judson  then  left  for  the  East,  and  Emily,  with 
Miss  Anable,  returned  soon  to  Utica — now  to  commence 
in  earnest  her  preparations  for  her  approaching  departm-e. 
I  continue  my  extracts  from  their  letters.  Dr.  Judson 
writes  first  from  Albany,  where  he  shared  a  second  time 
the  elegant  hospitalities  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  N.  Wil- 
der. 


Albany,  March  28. 

I  hope  there  is  no  harm,  dear  love,  in  writing  you  a  short 
line,  though  at  so  early  a  date  since  leaving  you.  At  any  rate 
there  is  no  great  cause  for  apprehension ;  for  I  have  but  a  short 
time  before  breakfast  and  getting  off  in  the  cars.  I  am  writing 
in  the  chamber  of  Mr.  Wilder,  which  I  occupied  the  early 
part  of  last  November,  when  I  had  my  dear  children  with  me, 
going  and  returning — when  I  had  never  so  much  as  a  thought 
of  Fanny  Forester,  and  was  ever  pouring  out  my  griefs  and  my 
tears  at  the  tomb  of  St,  Helena.  What  strange  changes  take 
place  in  outward  things  and  in  the  inner  heart !  And  what 
greater  changes  are  just  at  hand,  when  we  shall  tread  the  un- 
trodden path,  and  look  for  the  first  time  into  the  unknown 
world !  Let  them  that  have  wives  be  as  though  they  had  none, 
and  those  that  weep  as  though  they  wept  not — -for  the  fashion 
of  this  world  passeth  away.  There  is  true  wisdom  communica- 
ted by  the  light  of  inspiration  to  guide  man  in  his  passage 
through  this  dark  and  dangerous  world.  I  wish  not  that  I  had 
loved  you  less,  but  that  I  had  preached  to  you  more — and  you 
to  me.  Dearest,  we  must  be  blessings  to  one  another.  We 
must  so  love  and  so  live,  that  we  shall  love  the  more,  and  live 
the  happier  through  endless  ages.  If  we  truly  love,  what  greater 
desire  can  we  have  than  to  brighten  up  each  other's  eternal 
crown  ?  We  can  and  shall  exert  a  greater  influence  on  each 
other  than  all  the  world  beside.      0  let  it  be  of  the  best  kind. 


174  LIFE    OF    MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

"We  can  not  be  too  good.  O  let  us  be  good  and  appear  good, 
avoiding  even  the  appearance  of  evil.     .     .     . 

Thine  ever,  A.  Judson. 

FROM    DR.    JUDSON. 

Plymouth,  April  2, 1846. 

How  I  wish,  my  dearest  love,  that  you  were  here !  I  arrived 
last  night,  and  found  my  sister  and  three  children,  and  this  is 
the  last  visit,  in  all  probability,  which  we  shall  all  enjoy  together 
in  this  world.  T  shall  stay  here  three  days  more,  and  then  we 
shall  be  all  scattered  again.  I  have  not  yet  received  a  line 
from  you,  nor  shall  I  now  until  I  get  back  to  Boston,  for  I 
have  not  directed  letters  to  be  sent  on,  lest  they  should  pass 
me  on  the  way.  The  children  are  mightily  amused  at  their 
papa's  marrying  Emily  Chubbuck.  Abby  Ann  had  found 
out  from  some  of  the  neighbors  that  it  was  Fanny  Forester : 
but  she  is  quite  sure  that  Fanny  Forester  must  be  very 
good,  since  she  wrote  "Effie  Maurice,"  one  of  her  favorite 
books.  Our  affair,  I  find,  has  been,  not  the  town-talk,  but  the 
country-talk,  for  a  fortnight  or  month  past.  The  Philadelphia 
announcement,  that  "  marriage  was  intended  between  the  Rev. 
etc.,  and  the  dear,  delightful  Fanny  Forester,"  opened  people's 

eyes  a  bit.     Even  that  slow,  deliberating committed  it  to 

memory,  and  was  able  to  repeat  it  verbatim,  which  I  made  him 
do.  He  did  not  know,  not  he,  but  I  had  found  a  jewel,  but 
timidly  inquired  whether  you  would  be  arrayed  in  other  jewels 
and  finery ! — evidently  fearing  that  you  would  come  dancing 
through  the  country,  like  other  Fannies,  in  the  style  laid  down 
in  Isaiah,  chap.  iii.  I  replied  that,  from  considerable  acquaint- 
ance, I  was  satisfied  that  you  enjoyed  a  tolerable  modicum  of 
common  sense.  How  astonished  they  will  be  when  they  see 
yo.u,  and  become  a  little  acquainted  with  you.  .  .  The  truth  is, 
it  is  not  strange  that  there  should  be  a  great  wonderment ;  we 
calculated  on  it.  But  we  need  not  care  for  it.  We  can  both 
of  us,  perhaps,  aff'ord  to  be  pretty  independent  of  it.     And  we 


THE   CONSECRATION.  175 

know  it  will  soon  pass  away,' and  still  more,  that  a  reaction  will 
probably  take  place.  We  feel  tbat  God  has  directed  us  in  this 
affair,  and  we  may  hope  that  He  will  grant  His  rich  blessing ; 
and  if  He  bless  us,  we  shall  be  blessed  indeed. 

April  3.  Where  are  you  now,  and  what  are  you  doing? 
It  is  a  week  to-day  since  we  parted.  I  have  almost  forgotten 
how  you  look.  Let  me  consider — but  you  have  such  a  Pro- 
tean face  that  it  is  impossible  to  fix  you.  There  is  Kitty  Cole- 
man's mischievous  face,  full  of  fun  and  frolic — "catch  her, 
catch  her,  if  you  can !"  And  then  there  is  the  philosophic 
or  poetic  development — pen  in  hand — form  bending — upper 
lip  full  of  thought.  "  O,  fair  and  fanciful  Fan  Forester."  Or 
is  it  Jeane  Marie  Guion  ? 

"  Ye  who  know  my  heavenly  fire, 
Softly  speak,  and  soon  retire." 

Pass  on,  ye  fair,  fascinating  fantasies — what  comes  next  ?  Oj  I 
see,  I  feel,  it  is  the  face  of  love,  not  hidden  in  the  hands — up- 
turned, beaming,  glowing,  in  the  sympathetic  mesmerism  of 
commingling  spirits.  And  must  this  face  ever  become  settled, 
cold,  lifeless,  like  those  other  faces  that  I  once  feasted  on  ? 
And  must  I  again  press  down  the-  stiff'ening  eye-lids  on  the 
extinguished  orbs  of  love  ? 

"  Are  hope,  and  love,  and  beauty's  bloom, 
But  blossoms  gathered  for  the  tomb, 
And  nothing  bright  but  heaven  ?" 

Well,  be  it  so ;  for  heaven  is  in  full  prospect,  and  immortal  life, 
and  love,  and  joy.     .     .     . 

"  Clinging  to  Earth"  is  too  good  to  be  lost.  Suppose  you 
should,  some  time  when  you  have  nothing  else  to  do,  write  a 
counterpart — "  Aspiring  to  Heaven,"  or  the  like — and  let  them 
stand  together.     ... 

Thine  ever, 

A.  JUDSON. 


176  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EBIILY   C.    JUDSON. 


TO    DR.    JUDSON. 

April  3, 1846. 

I  am  distressed  to  death  with  the  thousand  things  which  I 
am  called  to  endure,  and  I  can  not  help  letting  you  know  it.  I 
wonder  if  men — Christians  or  infidels — have  any  human  feel- 
ing about  them,  that  they  should  think  their  fellows  made  of 
stone.  I  carefully  kept  my  name  from  the  public  eye,  assumed 
a  nom  de  plume  for  the  sake  of  privacy,  and  now  every  one  that 
can  pen  a  clumsy  paragraph,  must  needs  drag  it  before  the  pub- 
lic and  make  his  senseless  comment.  I  don't  care  whether  they 
praise  or  censure  me  ;  of  the  two,  perhaps  the  praise  is  the  most 
provoking.  I  wish  they  would  just  let  me  alone.  Give  me  some 
place  to  be  quiet  in,  if  it  be  only  a  hovel,  and  I  will  be  grateful. 
I  am  heart-sick  now,  and  if  the  feeling  be  not  wicked,  would 
rather  die  than  live.  It  is  not  enough  that  I  have  resolved  on 
a  step  which  is  almost  death — forgive  me,  dearest — I  am 
troubled,  and  do  not  consider  what  I  write.  I  shall  be  happy 
with  you,  I  know ;  but  now  I  am  most  miserable.  It  seems 
that  all  New  York  is  alive  about  the  affair.  It  is  the  common 
subject  of  conversation  on  steamboat  and  in  hotel,  in  parlor  and 
in  grog-shop.  H.  Anable,  who  has  just  returned  from  New 
York,  says  there  is  no  place  nor  circle  where  my  name  is  not 
heard.  There  is  even  talk  of  preventing  such  an  insane  pro- 
ceeding as  F.  F.'s  "  throwing  herself  away."  They  say  such  a 
senseless  sacrifice  is  unparalleled.     .     .     . 

TO    DR.   JUDSON. 

April  4. 

.  .  .  Then  I  am  worried — in  a  constant  state  of  excitement 
— so  nervous  that  the  slightest  thing  startles  and  alarms  me.  I 
am  not  afraid  you  will  cast  me  ofi";  but  sometimes  I  fear  that 
you  will  almost  wish  you  could  do  it;  and  the  wish  ^'ould  be 
equivalent  to  the  act.  Does  the  wish  ever  creep  into  youi 
mind  ?  Is  it  unjust  in  me  even  to  think  of  it  ?  I  suppose  it  is ; 
but  if  you  could  only  be  in  my  place  for  a  little  while,  this 


THE   CONSECRATION.  177 

strange,  terrible  position,  you  would  not  wonder  that  I  have  a 
dread  of  things  indefinable.  That  poor  I  should  be  set  up  in  a 
pillory  !  Please  write  me  a  little  (a  verij  little  if  you  should 
chance  to  be  busy)  every  day,  and  put  down  all  your  thoughts 
and  feelings.  .  .  It  does  not  agree  with  my  mental  or  moral 
constitution  to  occupy  such  a  conspicuous  position.  I  grow 
unamiable  every  day,  and  shall  be  a  perfect  Xantippe  before 
we  get  to  heathendom.  Seriously,  pray  for  me,  dearest ;  I 
never  felt  in  so  much  danger  of  turning  to  the  world  as  at  this 
time,  when  I  should  be  all  for  the  Saviour.  I  find  much  among 
Christians  which  is  called  religion,  and  which  is  just  its  anti- 
pode;  and  there  is  so  much  in  the  world  (particularly  the 
refined,  poetical  part  of  the  world,  which,  perhaps,  has  too 
much  of  my  sympathy)  like  the  purest  religion,  that  it  attracts 
me  in  spite  of  myself.  I  know  it  is  to  Jesus  Christ  alone  that 
I  should  look,  and  dearest— my  truest,  best  friend— my  all  in 
this  world— pray  for  me ;  help  me  in  every  way,  that  I  may 
not  be  a  hinderance  to  you ;  that  I  may  do  all  lean  to  make  the 
autumn  of  your  days  brighter  than  their  summer  has  been,  that 
their  winter  may  be  glorious.  Pray  for  me  constantly,  dearest, 
for  I  am  exposed  to  severe  temptations,  and  I  am  very  weak. 
The  God  we  both  love  watch  over  you,  and  bring  us  again  to- 
gether in  love  and  happiness.  How  kind  of  Him  to  make  us 
capable  of  loving  each  other.  Do  not  forget  me,  and  believe, 
my  best  beloved,  that  you  are  ever  in  the  heart  of  your  affec- 
tionate Emily. 

FROM   DR.   JUDSON. 

Boston,  April  7, 1846. 

My  Dearest  Love, — 

I  have  just  been  having  a  good  cry  here  alone,  in  Mr.  Col- 
by's chamber,  about  my  poor  dear  children.  I  left  the  two 
boys  yesterday  crying  as  they  set  off  in  the  cars  for  Worcester. 
Abbey  Ann  I  took  on  to  Bradford,  and  this  morning  I  left  her 
crying  at  the  Hasseltines\  And  thoughts  of  the  children  bear 
my  mind  to  their  departed  mother,  and  I  review  the  scenes  on 


178  LIFE   OF  MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

board  the  Sophia  Walker  and  at  St.  Helena.  And  then  I  stretch 
away  to  my  two  little  forsaken  orphans  in  Burmah;  and  then  I 
turn  to  you  whom  I  love  not  less,  though  but  a  recent  acquain- 
tance. What  a  strange  thing  is  the  human  heart !  O  if  all 
our  severe  trials,  and  our  sweet  enjoyments  are  but  sanctified  to 
us,  it  will  be  well.  All  my  children  are  now  settled  for  the 
present.  George  Boardman  will  enter  Brown  University  next 
fall.  My  pecuniary  arrangements  are  such  that  we  shall  have 
an  ample  suflSciency  for  all  our  purposes,  and  enough  to  furnish 
your  parents  with  what  you  may  think  necessary ;  so  that  you 
can  write  as  much  or  as  little  as  you  choose,  and  if  you  take 
any  remuneration,  you  can  have  the  pleasure  of  presenting  it, 
through  the  mission  treasury,  as  an  expression  of  gratitude  to 
Him  who  gave  His  life  for  you,  and  is  now  preparing  your  seat 
and  your  crown.  This  is  the  course  I  have  taken  myself,  and  I 
am  more  and  more  convinced  that  it  is  the  best,  the  most  ex- 
cellent course.  You  thought  so  at  once  when  we  first  conversed 
on  these  matters,  and  it  was  I  that  proposed  another  course  and 
have  been  trying  to  ascertain  whether  it  was  consistent  and 
practicable.  But  I  rather  think  that  it  is  neither.  The  rules 
of  the  Board,  which  some  consider  too  rigid,  I  made  myself 
when  I  viewed  the  subject  impartially,  and  consulted  the  gen- 
eral and  the  ultimate  good.  I  sent  them  home  to  the  Board, 
and  they  were  adopted  without  even  a  verbal  alteration,  and 
have  been  acted  on  ever  since. 

In  regard  to  yourself  you  say,  "My  impression  has  been  that 
you,  considering  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case,  thought  I 
had  done  right,  though  the  publication  of  a  few  letters  might 
iw)t  have  been  wise."  Your  impression  is  perfectly  correct. 
That  is  just  my  sentiment.  But  you  know  I  always  thought 
that  you  had  not  been  for  a  year  or  two  in  the  most  excellent 
way,  and  that  it  was  exceedingly  desirable  that  you  should 
henceforth  pledge  yourself  and  vows  to  holier  purposes.  And 
this  was  the  aim  of  my  first  plain  and  rather  ungallant  exhorta- 
tion.    And  I  shall  always  think  that  your  own  sense  and  love 


THE   CONSECRATION.  179 

of  right  essentially  aided  me  in  my  adventurous  attempt  on 
your  heart.  But  by  whatever  means  it  was  effected,  it  is  the 
joy  of  my  life  that  I  have  secured  a  little  lodgment  in  that 
dear,  dear  heart.  Do  not,  darling,  turn  me  out  because dis- 
torts what  I  have  said.  You  know  how  a  thing  can  be  almost 
honestly  misrepresented  by  being  repeated  and  re-repeated.  I 
don't  recollect  what  I  said,  but  certainly  not  what  is  imputed  to 
me.  .  .  .  As  to  who  shall  marry  us,  and  the  time  and 
place,  have  it  all  in  your  own  way.  Only  give  me  the  root 
marry^  and  you  may  vary  it  by  any  inflections,  and  conjugate 
it  in  any  mood  or  tense  you  please. 

"  I  dread  the  coming  of  something  that  may  separate  us,  or 
make  us  less  happy  in  each  other."  I  wonder  if  you  think  that 
I  divide  my  heart  between  you  and  my  friends  here  in  Boston 
or  elsewhere ;  and  whether  you  think  that  any  thing  I  hear  or 
can  hear  will  ever  make  me  regret  the  blessed  Providence  that 
carried  me  to  Delaware  12th,  or  feel  ungrateful  for  your  kind 
love  which  has  allowed  my  spirit  to  mingle  with  yours  in  a  union 
which  neither  time  nor  death  can  ever  dissolve. 

As  to  what  the  newspapers  and  the  public  say,  can  you 
not  receive  it  with  that  cool,  quiet  composure  which  best 
becomes  you,  nor  let  any  one  but  me  know  that  it  disturbs 
you  ?  In  fact,  be  not  disturbed.  There  is  nothing  that  ought 
to  disturb  one  of  your  pure  and  high  purpose.  Before  God  we 
are  indeed  full  of  sin ;  but  we  may  still  feel  that  the  path  we 
are  treading  is  one  which  the  common  people  have  neither 
capacity  to  investigate,  nor  right  to  judge.  The  opinion  of  one 
such  man  as  President  W.  is  worth  that  of  ten  thousand,  and 
here  it  is  under  March  26th  :  "  I  know  not  where  you  are,  but 
hear  you  are  tripping  in  author-land  under  the  guidance  of  a 
fair  Forester.  I  am  pleased  to  hear  of  your  engagement,  as'  far 
as  I  know  of  it.  Miss  C.  is  every  where  spoken  of  as  a  pious, 
sensible,  cultivated,  and  engaging  person.  I  pray  God  it  may 
prove  a  great  and  mutual  blessing.  I  write  at  a  venture,  to  say 
that  our  house  is  at  your  service  whenever  you  will  come  and 


180  LIFE    OF  MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

occupy  it.  Should  you  bring  any  one  with  you  both  will  be 
equally  welcome."  "Would  you  like  to  have  the  "  Dissatisfied 
Spirit "  put  into  a  Boston  paper  ?  And  will  you  alter  the  last 
sentence,  or  let  it  remain  as  it  is? 

April  8th.  I  have  received  three  letters  from  XJtica — thank 
you,  darling.  The  last  contained  the  extract  from  the  New 
York  Express.  That  surely  does  not  trouble  you.  True  it  is 
unpleasant  to  have  our  private  affairs  before  the  public;  but 
after  all  it  is  a  small  matter.  Let  us  rest  in  one  another's  love, 
but  chiefly  in  the  love  of  Jesus,  and  in  the  consoling  conscious- 
ness that  we  are  endeavoring  to  serve  Him,  and  that  He  will 
forgive  all  our  follies  and  sins,  and  send  forth  judgment  into 
victory.  I  have  been  so  cried  down  at  different  periods  of  my 
life — especially  when  I  became  a  Baptist  and  lost  all,  all  but 
Ann — ^that  I  suppose  I  am  a  little  hardened.  But  I  feel  for 
you,  for  it  is  your  first  field.  Whatever  of  strength  or  shield  is 
mine,  or  I  can  draw  down  from  heaven,  is  yours. 

Thine  with  my  whole  heart, 

A.  JuDSON. 

FROM    MISS    CHUBBUCk's    REPLY    TO    THE    FOREGOING. 

Utica,  April  10. 

Thanks  for  your  beautiful  letter.  You  do  take  all  the  trouble 
away  so  sweetly !  I  don't  know  why  you  should  be  so  good 
and  kind  to  me  when  I  get  out  of  patience.  Yes,  I  do  know 
that  you  will  never  repent  the  step  you  have  taken,  though  the 
entire  world  should  disapprove  of  it,  and  with  full  faith  in  that 
I  will  not  be  disturbed  by  trifles.  I  know  these  are  all  trifles — 
things  that  I  shall  laugh  at  when  I  get  away  from  them  ;  but 
sometimes  they  seem  terrible  now.  They  shall  not  any  more, 
though ;  I  will  rest  in  your  love,  and  in  a  holier.     .     .     . 

Would  that  I  could  have  charmed  away  the  tears  for  your 
children,  poor  things !  .  .  .  I  am  longing  to  see  the  little 
darlings.  And,  dearest,  my  own  dearest,  best  friend,  God  help- 
ing me,  they  shall  never  feel  the  loss  of  the  sainted  one.    Do 


THE   CONSECRATION.  181 

not  call  them  "  orphans"  any  more.  I  will  love  them  and  watch 
over  them,  and  when  I  fail  in  any  thing,  you  will  point  out  the 
faults  and  teach  me  better.  Oh,  we  will  have  a  happy  little 
home — thankful  that  God  allows  us  to  care  for  some  of  the  be- 
loved ones,  and  leaving  the  others  to  Him  who  can  do  it  much 
better  than  we  can. 

I  hope  I  have  not  troubled  you  by  any  thing  that  I  have 
written  you  about  the  strict  rules  of  the  Board.  I  don't  like  to 
be  a  burden  to  you,  who  have  already  too  much  on  your  hand; 
and  then  I  suppose  that  I  have  a  little  woman's  pride  in  the 
matter.  It  is  quite  enough  for  you  to  have  the  care  of  me. 
But  I  know  that  you  will  do  the  best  for  me  that  you  can,  and 
whatever  you  do  will  be  right.  If  they  can  not  vary  the  rule 
in  our  favor,  why  we  must  trust  more  to  God,  and  less  to  our- 
selves. If  we  give  ourselves  all  to  Him,  He  will  care  for  us, 
and  for  those  whom  we  love. 

Do  whatever  you  please  with  the  "  Dissatisfied  Spirit."  Mr. 
Beebee  has  my  copy,  and  is  to  publish  it  in  the  Register  next 
week.  I  did  not  make  the  alteration  at  the  end  of  the  "  Dis- 
satisfied Spirit,"  for  it  does  not  read  quite  as  smoothly,  and  I 
do  not  care  to  help  people  in  making  a  personal  application, 
I  must  stop  without  filling  my  sheet,  or  doing  justice  to  my 
heart. 

Your  loving 

Nemmy. 

from  dr.  judson. 

Boston,  April  10, 1846. 

I  seize  a  little  time,  early  this  morning,  for  I  am  so  driven 
with  business  and  company  through  the  day  and  evening  that 
I  have  scarcely  time  to  write,  though  I  do  now  and  then  think 
of  you.     "  Does  the  wish  ever  creep  into  your  mind"  that  you 

could  get  rid  of  me?      Suppose  it  did.      Doesn't  Mr.  

say  that  "  now  the  name  of  the  one  is  seldom  separated  from 
that  of  the  other."     Why,  we  are  as  good  as  married.     I  don't 


182  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

see  how  I  can  help  myself  now,  whatever  my  wishes  may  be. 
I  couldn't  discard  you  without  incurring  universal  execration  ; 
and  that  would  be  worse  than  the  other  alternative  even.  But 
there  is  one  way — you  can  discard  me,  and  I  can  tell  you 
how  to  do  it,  so  as  rather  to  rise  than  fall  in  public  esti- 
mation.    But  I  wont,  though ;  and  what  is  more,  I  am  sure 

you  don't  want  to  know.     No.     says  that  our  names  are 

seldom  separated ;  our  hearts  are  never ;  and  may  the  time 
soon  come  when  our  persons  shall  be  never  separated.  But 
that  wish  is  linked  to  another  thought,  that  a  separation,  a 
dread  separation,  must  finally  come.  And  that  will  be  the  more 
bitter  the  longer  we  live  together  and  the  more  we  love. 
Nothing  can  temper  that  bitterness  but  the  assurance  of  an  eter- 
nal reunion.  Let  us  so  live  that  we  shall  have  this  full  as- 
surance. I  must  confess  that  with  you  T  am  disgusted  with 
much  I  see  in  the  religious  world,  and  am  sometimes  pleased, 
too  much  pleased,  with  what  I  see  in  the  irreligious.  But  this 
I  ascribe  to  my  lowness  in  religion ;  for  we  ought  to  love  the 
Saviour  so  entirely  as  to  be  unable  to  find  pleasure  in  any  thing 
which  does  not  accord  with  His  mind.  But  I  have  not  the 
most  distant  desire  of  "turning  to  the  world,"  nor  ever  have 
had  since  I  first  entertained  a  hope  in  Christ.  Nor  do  I  under- 
stand you  to  say  that  you  have,  though  you  feel  exposed  to 
danger.  I  know  no  other  way  than  to  make  up  one's  own 
mind  in  regard  to  the  right  course,  and  then  to  pursue  it  stead- 
ily, always  pressing  to  the  right  side,  and  keeping  as  far  as 
possible  from  the  wrong,  whatever  may  be  our  own  secret  in- 
clinations ;  and  thus,  with  the  divine  blessing,  habits  of  virtue 
will  be  formed,  and  our  inclination,  at  first  wavering,  will  be- 
come coincident  with  the  Saviour's.  We  shall  love  what  He 
loves,  and  hate  what  He  hates.  Do  not  the  late  circumstances 
of  your  life,  ordained  of  God,  unsought  by  you,  call  on  you  as 
with  a  voice  from  heaven  to  become  a  devoted,  holy  missionary 
— to  love  not  the  world,  nor  the  things  of  the  world ;  to  set 
your  affections  on  things  above  ?     Pray  turn   away  your  ear 


THE    CONSECRATION.  183 

from  the  censure  and  the  commendation  you  may  hear.  Re- 
member that  the  eye  of  Christ  is  especially  observing  you,  and 
that  your  whole  future  life  will  take  its  coloring  from  the 
manner  in  which  you  now  consecrate  yourself  to  God.  .  .  . 
I  shall  leave  this  afternoon  for  Maine,  and  be  absent  a  week 
or  more.  The  probability  is  that  we  must  be  ready  to  embark 
by  the  middle  of  June.  "  Do  not  forget  me,"  you  say.  For- 
get thee  ! 

"If  prayers  in  absence  breathed  for  thee  to  heaven's  propitious  power, 
If  winged  thoughts  that  flit  to  thee,  a  thousand  in  an  hour, 
If  busy  fancy,  blending  thee  witli  all  my  future  lot — 
If  this  thou  eall'st  forgetting,  then  indeed  thou  art  forgot." 

Though  I  am  not  the  author  of  these  beautiful  lines,  they 
express  my  very  thoughts  and  feelings  toward  you,  dearest. 

.     .     .     Live  near  the  throne  of  grace,  and  pray  for  me  that 
I  may  be  more  deserving  of  your  precious  love. 
Entirely  and  for  ever  thine, 

A.   JUDSON. 

TO    DR.   JUDSON. 

Utica,  April  13,  1846. 

My  blessed  one !  God  make  me  grateful  to  Him  for  sending 
you  to  love  me,  to  teach  and  guide  me — make  me  more  and 
more  grateful,  for  I  am  very  much  so  now.  Your  letter  received 
last  evening  shows  that  I  have  worried  you  by  my  murmur- 
ings.  Forgive  me,  I  will  try  not  to  give  way  to  such  feelings 
again.  I  know  it  is  wrong — I  know  it  is  the  very  height  of 
ingratitude ;  for  I  am  really  happier  in  your  love,  and  in  the 
consciousness  of  doing  right,  than  when  my  praises  were  sounded 
from  one  end  of  the  country  to  the  other.  Yet  sometimes  this 
does  seem  a  severe  ordeal.  My  health  has  not  been  quite  as 
good,  and  the  loss  of  sleep  and  appetite  together  may  have 
made  me  a  little  more  excitable.  Pray  for  me,  dearest ;  God 
help  me,  and  I  will  try  to  consecrate  myself  to  Him  entirely.   I 


184  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

do  love  His  cause  more  than  any  thing  else,  and  am  happy  in 
the  thought  of  being  permitted  to  do  some  good ;  but  I  need 
your  constant,  unremitting  prayers.  I  do  not  know  how  far  I 
am  influenced  in  this  important  step  by  love  to  you,  and  how  far 
by  love  to  God ;  the  two  seem  to  be  pointing  so  entirely  in  the 
same  way,  and  He  has  made  it  so  sweet  to  do  right,  I  am  sure 
I  can  not  love  you  too  much ;  pray  for  me  that  I  may  love  the 
blessed  Saviour  more.     .     .     . 

O  how  entirely  I  must  belong  to  you — you  whom  four  months 
ago  I  had  never  seen.  Now  all  my  hopes  for  this  life  cluster 
around  you — all  my  earthly  interests  are  bound  up  in  yours ; 
all  my  other  feelings  are  but  air  balanced  against  my  love  for 
you ;  my  thoughts,  wishes,  and  sentiments  are  under  your  con- 
trol— ^your  wish  is  my  law,  your  smile  my  happiness,  and  your 
frown  my  misery.  Ah,  well,  there  is  something  so  sweet 
about  this  heart  slavery!  Take  the  hand  I  place  upon  your 
lips,  and  lead  your  "  unuseful"  one  through  life  up  to  heaven 
— thine  through  life,  thine  in  death,  thine  when  we  shall 
both  awake  in  our  blessed  Saviour's  image. 
Yours  lovingly, 

Emily. 

P.  S.  I  have  succeeded  at  last  in  getting  some  medicine  from 
Dr.  James  which  I  hope  will  do  me  good.  I  have  scarce  eaten  a 
meal  since  my  return  from  Schenectady.     I  have  taken  my 

third  singing  lesson,  and  Mr.  E speaks  quite  encouragingly. 

The  singing  is  all  for  you ;  so  if  I  sometimes  make  your  ears 
ache  you  can  not  find  fault. 

TO    DR.    JUDSON. 

Utioa,  April  17. 

Shall  I  send  another  letter  to  Boston  ?  There  will  be  three 
or  four  awaiting  you,  but  perhaps  you  would  like  something  of 
a  later  date.  Yours  from  Boston  was  received  last  evening  ;  it 
takes  letters  such  a  long  time  to  come ! 


THE  CONSECRATION.  185 

Pray,  don't  make  arrangements  for  sailing  the  middle  of 
June,  if  you  can  help  it — don't.  It  is  so,  so  soon.  I  have  been 
through  with  a  terrible  scene  to-day.  I  was  induced  to  go  into 
the  school-room  for  an  hour,  and  such  sobbings  !  I  haven't  got 
the  tears  out  of  my  eyes  yet.  O  it  is  hard  to  leave  these  dear 
little  creatures  who  love  me  so  much,  and  over  whom  I  have  so 
much  influence.  Do  you  wonder  that  I  doubt  whether  I  can 
ever  do  as  much  good  elsewhere  ?  Have  you  ever  thought  that 
teaching  in  this  school  has  been  my  business  ?  and  that  I  have 
incurred  censure  because  I  have  employed  my  leisure  hours  in 
the  way  which  I  considered  the  most  useful  ?  My  writing  time 
was  made  up  of  the  stray  hours  which  I  saved  from  society? 
etc.  Yet  everybody  looks  upon  the  writer  and  forgets  the 
teacher  entirely — everybody  out  of  the  house.  They  forget, 
too,  that  what  they  call  my  better  sort  of  writing  (I  do  not 
think  it  so)  balances  the  other  in  quantity,  fully;  and  seize 
upon  the  innocent  doings  of  lighter  moments  as  though  these 
things  had  been  the  business  of  life.  I  believe  nobody  ever 
lisped  a  word  against  my  usefulness  as  a  teacher.     .     .     . 

Evening^  eight  o'clock.  What  a  dull,  statistical  letter  I  have 
written  you !  The  truth  is,  I  was  fatigued  into  utter  stupidity 
this  afternoon,  and  am  very  little  better  now.  I  fancy  that 
I  am  nearly  as  much  thronged  with  company  as  you  are; 
having  been  away  so  long,  all  my  friends  come  now  to  see  me, 
and  it  is  fatiguing  and  exciting.  My  precious  guide  and  teacher ! 
God  keep  me  humble  that  your  instructions  may  be  always  dear 
to  me — your  kind  censure  sweet.  Do  I  seem  to  lack  the  proper 
degree  of  meekness  when  I  try  to  defend  myself  from  what 
seems  to  me  undeserved  blame  ?  I  know  that  God  sees  a  very 
wicked  heart  in  me.  I  know  that  you  and  other  intimate  friends 
must  be  aware  of  faults ;  and  I  love  you  better  for  telling  me 
of  them ;  but  the  censure  which  I  receive  just  now  is  unjust. 
Perhaps,  though,  I  ought  to  take  it  just  as  patiently.  Pray 
for  me  that  I  may  have  wisdom  to  guide  me  through  all  diffi- 
culties. 


186  LIFE    OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

Early  in  May,  Dr.  Judson  returned  from  his  eastern 
trip  to  Utica,  and  he  and  Emily  made  a  visit  together  to 
Hamilton,  and  she  had  the  privilege  of  spending  yet  a  few 
days  with  her  parents  before  the  final  coming  which  was 
to  separate  her  from  them  forever.  It  was  now  the  ad- 
vancing spring,  and  natm'e  was  putting  on  her  beautiful 
livery,  and  beaming  with  a  gladness  in  harmony  with  the 
tempered  yet  buoyant  happiness  of  their  spirits.  She 
now  paid  off  the  debt  due  on  the  house  which  she  had 
purchased  for  her  parents,  by  a  loan  from  Dr.  Judson 
(to  be  repaid  from  the  sale  of  her  books),  and  was  thus 
able  to  leave  them  an  unincumbered  home. 

She  received  also  from  Philadelphia  the  engraving 
of  that  picture  of  her  which  forms  the  frontispiece  to 
Alderbrook.  The  following  letter  to  Kev.  Mr.  Gillette 
gives  her  strictures  upon  it : 

Hamilton,  May  8, 1846. 

My  Dear  Mr.  Gillette, — 

I  received  yours,  together  with  the  engraving  and  news- 
paper, this  morning.  You  are  so  very  kind  that  I  do  not  know 
how  to  thank  you  enough.  I  like  your  suggestion  about  curving 
the  neck  more.  There  is  also  too  much  of  a  dimple  in  the  chin, 
though  perhaps  not  more  than  in  the  painting.  The  nose,  as  I 
have  often  said  before,  is  too  pointed,  a  little  too  long,  perhaps, 
at  the  tip,  and,  where  it  joins  the  face,  a  little  bit  too  narrow. 
It  gives  the  whole  face  a  sharp  look.  Yet  I  do  not  know  as  it 
would  be  best  to  touch  it.  I  wish,  however,  that  something 
could  be  done  to  subdue  and  soften  down  the  expression  of  the 
whole  thing.  It  is  quite  too  spirited — not  so  meek-looking  as  I 
fancy  myself  to  be.  The  amount  of  the  whole  is,  the  picture  is 
a  grand  one — beautifully  painted  and  very  beautifully  engraved 
— but  precious  little,  if  at  all,  like  me,  except  in  the  outline — 
not  the  least  particle  in  expression.  However,  I  do  not  care ; 
it  is  as  like,  I  suppose,  as  engravings  usually  are,  and  I  would 


THE   CONSECRATION.  187 

rather  be  flattered  than  caricatured,  as  Dr.  J.  is.  Please  have 
no  name  attached  to  it ;  neither  my  old  true  name,  nor  my  in- 
tended new  one.  I  have  concluded  not  to  have  any  loose  en- 
gravings out  (at  least  until  I  leave  the  country),  but  reserve  the 
picture  for  my  "  Fanny  Forester"  sketches.  For  the  same  reason 
I  do  not  wish  it  to  appear  in  any  magazine. 

I  thank  you  for  your  warm,  kind  interest;  but  I  am  not 
troubled  now  by  what  people  say.  Indeed,  I  never  in  my  life 
before  was  so  perfectly  indifferent  to  any  thing  relating  to  my- 
self. I  am  very  happy  in  my  new  prospects — though  there  are 
terrible  sacrifices  close  at  hand — and  in  my  happiness  I  can 
afford  to  hear  the  wind  blowing  around  me.  It  is  all  wind — 
"  only  that  and  nothing  more."  Do  not  be  troubled  for  me. 
"If  God  be  for  us,  who  can  be  against  us?"  I  feel  in  my  very 
soul  that  I  have  the  approbation  of  God  in  this  step ;  and 
really  the  approval  or  disapproval  of  men,  who  are  incapable 
of  understanding  or  appreciating  the  matter,  is  an  exceedingly 
small  thing.     Let  it  pass.     .     .     . 

Yours  sincerely, 

E.  C. 

Dr.  Judson  and  Emily  visited  together  her  early  home 
in  Eaton.  Dr.  Judson  had  read  her  description  of  Under- 
bill Cottage  in  the  "  Trippings,"  and  he  remembered  the 
invitation  there  given  to  the  reader  to  come  and  survey 
its  beauties,  with  herself  for  his  cicerone,  when  it  was 
surrounded  by  the  laughing  beauty  of  spring.  This  invi- 
tion  he  now  felt  irresistibly  inclined  to  accept,  and  Emily 
probably  was  not  disposed  to  recall  it.  They  visited  the 
hallowed  spot  together  ;  took  tea  in  Underhill  Cottage  ; 
and  wandered  at  leisure  by  the  stream  which,  fringed 
with  alders,  gave  to  the  subsequent  collection  of  her 
sketches  its  graceful  and  appropriate  name.  Fancy  may 
be  excused  for  lingering  a  moment  on  the  scene  in  which 


188  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSOliT. 

two  such  spirits — the  one  full  of  the  warm  affections, 
the  fresh  hopes,  the  hright  fancies  of  youth  and  youthful 
genius — the  other  that  of  one  who  had  filled  a  hemis- 
phere and  a  half  century  with  his  deeds  of  sublime 
Christian  devotion,  but  whose  genial  character  time  had 
but  touched  with  a  mellow  grace — in  which  they  together 
visited  the  spot  which  had  witnessed  the  early  joys  and 
sorrows  of  the  fair  and  gifted  being  who  was  soon  to  lay 
her  hand  in  his,  and  share  his  fortunes  on  the  other  side 
of  the  globe.  What  memories  of  the  past,  what  visions, 
chastened  yet  joyful,  of  the  future,  throng  upon  those 
spirits  both  of  which  have  drunk  deep  of  the  cup  of 
sorrow,  and  know  w^ell  the  stern  realities  of  life,  and  yet 
both  of  which  possess  within  a  permanent  well-spring 
of  joy  and  hope  such  as  God  bestows  only  on  the  favored 
few  !  With  what  touching  pathos  did  Emily  recount 
the  childish  memories  with  which  each  scene  was  asso- 
ciated— the  memories  of  joys — 0  how  sweet !  and  of 
griefs — 0  how  bitter  !  And  how  eloquent  were  the 
words  in  which  he  pointed  forward  to  their  future  of  en- 
joyment and  of  trial,  and  then  to  that  scarcely  remoter 
future  of  blessed  and  boundless  reward  which,  in  near 
prospect,  stood  open  to  the  vision  of  his  faith  !  Dr. 
Judson's  spirit  was  intensely,  unconquerably  youthful. 
He  seemed  to  have  quaffed  the  elixir  that  keeps  the 
heart  always  young — to  have  drawn  his  very  life-blood 
from  that  "deep  heart  of  existence"  which  "beats  for- 
ever like  a  boy's,"  How  exquisitely  touching  that  scene 
upon  his  death-bed  in  which,  in  reply  to  his  wife's  remark 
that  it  was  the  opinion  of  the  members  of  the  mission 
that  he  would  not  recover,  he  said,  "  I  know  it  is,  and  I 
suppose  they  think  me  an  old  man,  and  imagine  it  is 
nothing  for  one  like  me  to  resign  a  life  so  full  of  trials. 


THE   CONSECRATION.  189 

But  I  am  not  old — at  least  in  that  sense  ;  you  know  I 
am  not.  0  no  man  ever  left  the  world  with  more  in- 
viting prospects,  with  brighter  hopes,  or  warmer  feel- 
ings— warmer  feelings/'  he  repeated,  and  burst  into 
tears.* 

And  his  were  no  ordinary  fascinations — a  character  of 
the  rarest  quality,  in  which  the  hero  of  practical  hfe  and 
the  hero  of  romance  blended  their  seemiagly  incongruous 
elements  ;  in  which,  by  a  rare  felicity  of  temperament, 
the  energetic  will  of  the  man  of  action,  and  the  almost 
ascetic  devotion  of  the  saint,  were  blended  with  the  play- 
fulness of  the  child,  the  tenderness  of  the  woman,  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  poet,  and  the  clear  vision  of  the  sage. 
And  now  he  was  wandering — amidst  the  home  and  the 
scenes  of  her  childhood — with  the  one  whom  his  heart 
and  his  judgment  had  selected  to  be  the  successor  of  his 
former  wives,  and  the  companion  of  his  future  fortunes. 
Few  men,  who  have  been  so  deeply  afflicted,  have  been 
so  highly  favored  as  he.  Few  have  found  a  trio  of  so 
highly  gifted  spirits  to  share  their  path  of  toil  and  self- 
denial.  The  gentle  being  who  now  stood  beside  him  was 
a  worthy  partner  of  the  lovely  ones  whom  he  had  laid 
beneath  the  hopia  tree  of  Amherst,  and  in  the  rock  of 
St.  Helena.  She  had  not,  indeed,  the  deep  religious 
experience  which  had  impelled  those  two  sainted  ones  to 

*  I  would  gladly  quote  the  entire  paragraph.  Let  me  beg  the  reader 
to  turn  to  the  memoir  of  Dr.  Wayland  (vol.  ii.  p.  345,  '6)  and  read  it ;  for 
there  is  nothing,  outside  of  inspiration,  more  touchingly  and  sublimely 
beautiful ;  nothing  which,  in  its  blending  of  the  gushing  tenderness  of  the 
man  with  the  hallowed  raptures  of  the  saint,  gives  a  juster  conception  of 
the  real  elements  of  heaveu.  "A  few  years  would  not  be  missed  from  my 
eternity  of  bliss,  and  I  can  well  afford  to  spare  them,  both  for  your  sake 
and  for  the  sake  of  the  poor  Burmans.  .  .  .  J3o  strong  in  Christ :  13.e  ha.3 
not  led  me  so  tenderly  thus  far  to  forsake  me  at  the  very  gate  of  heaven." 


190  LIFE   OF    MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

their  place  of  earthly  exile.  But  his  disceming  eye  saw 
the  slumbering  traits  of  a  noble  missionary  character, 
while  her  delicate  and  beautiful  genius  ran,  perhaps, 
through  a  larger  compass  of  correspondences  to  his  ver- 
satile and  many-sided  nature  than  that  of  either  of  her 
predecessors.  Ann  Hasseltine  more  than  met  all  the 
demands  of  his  earlier  years  of  youthful  and  heroic 
action  ;  Sarah  Boardman  -shed  the  light  of  one  of  the 
most  exquisite  of  womanly  natures  over  the  calmer  scenes 
of  his  manhood ;  Emily,  with  a  heroism  not  less  devoted, 
with  a  womanliness  not  less  pure  and  gentle,  met  his  ripe 
culture,  his  keen  intellectuality,  his  imaginative  and 
poetic  temperament,  with  a  richness  and  variety  of  en- 
dowments which  belonged  to  neither  of  those  admirably 
endowed  women. 

Linger  then  yet  a  little,  ye  gifted  ones,  in  this  home 
of  the  heart,  on  the  banks  of  this  fairy  rivulet,  and  let 
the  gentle  influences  of  the  scene  and  the  season  steal 
into  your  souls  !  Spring  waves  her  amber  wing,  and 
breathes  her  delicious  breath  around  you  ;  the  birds 
pour  their  melodies  upon  your  ear  ;  the  mellow  sunlight 
rests  on  hill  and  valley,  and  bathes  in  beauty  the  en- 
chanting landscape.  Dream  for  one  brief  moment  the 
delicious  dream  of  youth  and  love !  Whisper  the  vows 
of  affection,  whose  truth  is  to  be  tested  by  many  a  stern 
and  bitter  trial!  Thou,  veteran  soldier  of  the  cross,  revel 
for  a  moment  in  those  delightful  fancies  which  thine  un- 
worn spirit  knows  so  well  how  to  conjure  up,  before  thou 
replungest  into  the  stern  battle  of  life !  And  thou,  gentle 
child  of  genius  and  of  sorrow,  on  whose  heart  love  has 
laid  its  holy  spell,  pause  and  dream  a  moment  by  this 
brooklet  of  thy  childhood,  ere  thou  embarkest  on  the 
stream  whose  rushing  tide  shall  sweep  thee  with  arrowy 


THE    CONSECRATION.  191 

rapidity  toward  thy  destiny !  The  ocean,  Burmah,  toil, 
solitude,  sickness,  bereavement,  widowhood,  an  early 
grave — these,  unseen,  are  in  the  distance  ;  hut  beyond, 
the  blissful  reunion,  the  unfading  crown,  the  everlasting 
reward  !  One  sweet  hour,  gilded  with  the  fairy  visions 
of  romance,  and  then  away  to  the  reality  of  life  and 
toil ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE       MAEKIAGE. 

"  Like  the  swell  of  some  sweet  tune, 
Morning  rises  into  noon, 
May  glides  onward  into  June." 

They  spent  a  Sabbath  with  the  churches  in  Morris- 
ville  and  Eaton ;  the  one,  before  her  residence  in  TJtica, 
her  own  rehgious  home  ;  the  other  for  many  years  that 
of  her  parents.  In  Morrisville  occurred  the  little  scene 
mentioned  in  Emily's  reminiscences  of  her  husband,  in 
which  he  disappointed  the  congregation  who  anticipated 
some  story  of  missionary  adventure,  by  dwelling  with 
great  pathos  on  the  love  of  the  Saviour,  declaring  that 
he  knew  no  more  interesting  story  than  this. 

They  returned  to  Hamilton  and  thence  to  Utica — she 
to  complete  her  preparations  for  her  departure  ;  he  to 
go  on  and  attend  some  religious  meetings  in  New  York 
and  Philadelphia.  Emily  wished  before  leaving  the 
country  to  make  a  final  and  revised  collection  of  her 
tales  and  sketches,  embracing  those  written  subsequently 
tq  the  publication  of  "  Trippings.''  Dr.  Judson  entered 
heartily  into  her  plan,  and  aided  in  its  accomplishment. 
A  careful  perusal  of  her  writings  had  satisfied  him,  not 
only  of  their  genuine  literary  beauty,  but  of  the  prevailing 


THE   MARRIAGE.  193 

healthfullness  of  their  moral  tone.  Although  he  did  not 
regard  her  as  in  the  best  way,  and  desired  to  lead  her  out 
into  higher  usefulness,  yet  he  still  felt  that  these  writings 
might  influence  favorably  many  hearts,  and  prepare  the 
way  for  higher  spiritual  truths.  Soon  after  his  leaving 
for  New  York,  Miss  Chubbuck  was  annoyed  by  a  sur- 
reptitious edition  of  some  of  her  pieces  under  the  title 
of  "  Lilias  Fane  and  other  Tales."  In  her  letter  to  Dr. 
Judson  she  spoke  of  having  consulted  a  lawyer  about  the 
matter,  who,  however,  informed  her  that,  though  she 
might  sue  the  publishers  for  a  breach  of  copyright,  it 
would  subject  her  to  much  trouble,  and  to  an  annoying 
publicity.  The  cover  of  the  book  contained  a  picture, 
designed  by  the  artist  for  the  likeness  of  the  fair  author- 
ess, but,  as  ordinarily  in  the  case  of  such  catch-penny 
publications,  too  hideous  to  reach  even  the  dignity  of  a 
caricature.  Dr.  Judson  happened  to  see  a  copy  of  the 
work  in  a  bookstore  in  New  York,  and  he  wrote  to  Em- 
ily, congratulating  her  that  her  health  had  not  suffered 
from  her  recent  trip  southward  as  was  "evident  from 
the  ruddy  complexion  on  the  cover  of  ^  Lilias  Fane  and 
other  Tales.' "     He  then  proceeds  : 

And  now,  darhng,  don't  you  think  you  cut  a  pretty  figure  on 
the  cover  of  the  book  from  which  you  extracted  "  The  Dissatis- 
fied Spirit  ?"  That  was  the  reason  why  you  were  in  such  a 
"  pet "  and  sent  ofif  for  a  lawyer.  And  you  did  not  like  to  tell 
rae,  or  let  me  see  the  picture,  naughty,  distrustful  one !  And 
did  you  think  that  my  heart's  love  would  be  ruffled  by  seeing 
the  caricature  of  my  bride-elect  by  the  side  of  Fanny  Elsler, 
and  the  Fair  Bandit,  and  other  demireps,  in  the  low  book-stalls 
through  the  country  ?  And  did  you  think  that  my  courage 
would  quail,  and  that  I  should  wish  to  "take  it  all  back," 
though,  alas,  too  late  ?     Let  us  rather  be  glad,  dearest  and  best, 

9 


194  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY"  C.    JUDSON. 

if  your  beautiful  sketches,  which  can  never  be  tainted  or  depre- 
ciated by  any  contact  or  association,  may,  through  the  low- 
artifice  of  the  publisher,  reach  even  the  dirty  hand,  and  tearless 
eye,  and  hard-crusted  heart,  and  soften  and  cleanse  and  prepare, 
it  may  be, for  higher  and  more  spiritual  influences.     .     .     . 

May  God  preserve  your  health  and  life,  and  may  the  Holy 
Spirit  so  direct  your  thoughts,  and  sanctify  your  mind  in  view 
of  the  missionary  life,  and  service  also,  that  we  shall  be  bless- 
ings to  one  another  in  time  and  in  eternity. 

FROM    MISS    CHUBBUCk's    REPLY. 

No,  my  own  best  friend,  I  never  was  alarmed  or  afraid  to  have 
you  learn  all  about  me,  the  worst  and  the  best,  otherwise  I 
should  have  not  been  so  happy  in  your  precious  love.  If  I  had 
the  shadow  of  a  concealment  on  my  conscience,  I  should  be 
made  miserable  by  your  arms  opening  to  me  so  trustingly. 

Had  I  supposed  the  red  picture  on  the  cover  intended  for  me, 
I  should,  of  course,  have  been  much  more  mortified  than  I  was» 
by  having  my  sketches  appear  in  such  low  company.  But  I 
deemed  it  a  kind  of  gratuitous  embellishment.  Mr. re- 
marked that  he  wondered  whether  it  was  intended  for  Fanny 
Forester  or  Lilias  Fane ;  but  I  did  not  suppose  him  in  earnest. 
Why  are  you  so  good  to  me  ?  Talk  of  sacrifices  !  There  is 
nothing  which  I  would  not  cheerfully  resign,  no  place  to  which 
T  would  not  willingl)^,  gladly  go.  Take  me  to  your  heart,  and 
fashion  me  entirely.  There  is  a  blessing,  a  deep,  sacred  blessing 
even  in  the  humiliating  position  which  I  now  occupy.  A  year 
ago  nobody  could  equal  Fanny  Forester ;  nobody  so  praised  and 
petted  by  the  public.  Now  I  bring  disgrace,  where  I  would 
give  the  world  to  bring  just  a  little  honor.  But  it  is  sweet  to 
know  how  much  love  it  requires  to  cover  all  this  !     .     .     . 

I  had  a  letter  from  Carey  &  Hart  yesterday.  They  offer  me 
twelve  and  a  half  per  cent,  on  the  retail  price  of  my  book,  but 
object  to  republishing  any  thing  in  "  Trippings,"  and  to  includ- 
ing the  poetry.     They  say  that  republished  articles  injure  the 


THE    MARRIAGE.  195 

sale  of  a  book,  and  that  poetry  is  a  drug.  I  shall  not,  of 
course,  make  an  imperfect  collection,  and  so  am  again  without 
a  publisher.  Will  you  try  to  make  a  bargain  for  me  with 
Lippincott?  Mr.  Gillette  consulted  him  about  an  illustrated 
edition,  but  I  think  the  one  which  I  propose  making  far  pre- 
ferable. In  truth,  I  don't  care  so  much  about  making  a  good 
bargain  as  about  having  the  book  brought  out  for  other  reasons. 
It  is  unjust  to  myself  to  rest  my  literary  reputation  on  the 
"  Trippings." 

I  have  been  out  all  the  day  shopping,  and  am  too  tired  to 
write  any  more.  I  think  of  you  now  and  then  between  excla- 
mations concerning  pretty  frocks.  Oh,  that  is  a  charming 
blue  !  and  that  purple,  how  exquisite  !  You  don't  know  what 
absorbing  things  new  frocks  are,  for  you,  poor  man,  never  had 
any ;  so  I  must  not  look  for  sympathy.  Mrs.  Quin,  however, 
is  in  ecstacies ;  so  adieu,  that  I  may  join  her. 

Yours  (all  that  remains  from  the  frock), 

Nemmie, 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  to  Dr.  Judson 
contains  her  proposal  that  Abby  Ann  should  return 
with  them  to  Burmah.  It  is  creditable  alike  to  her 
heart  and  her  judgment,  and  points  incidentally  to  a  fea- 
ture in  her  character — her  strong,  personal  influence  over 
youthful  minds — which  was  likely  to  be  overlooked  in 
the  general  reserve  and  almost  timidity  of  her  manner. 
The  portion  of  her  observations  on  the  training  of  the 
youthful  character  needs  no  comment : 

Utica,  May  17. 

.  .  .  The  mention  of  the  ship  sends  my  heart  down  into 
my  shoes.  How  nice  could  we  but  sleep  a  half  year,  and  then 
awake  in  our  own  dear  home.  That  home  is  very  dear  to  me 
alrea'dy,  and  the  children  I  am  longing  to  see.  By  the  way,  I 
have  been  seriously  thinking  of  asking  you  to  take  Abby  back. 


196  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

She  is  your  only  daughter,  you  love  her  so  much,  and  it  will 
be  so  hard  for  the  little  creature  to  stay  behind.  And  you 
may  be  assured  that  she  shall  not  lack  for  any  good  which 
I  am  capable  of  exerting.  I  know  the  point  where  I  should  be 
most  likely  to  fail ;  but  I  would  pray  most  earnestly  to  exert  a 
healthful,  religious  influence.  And  how  I  should  love  to  have 
the  training  of  her  active  little  mind  !  I  would  pursue  a  regu- 
lar system  of  instruction :  give  daily  book-lessons,  besides  the 
other  lessons  which  we  could  extract  from  things  about  us.  It 
would  be  something  of  a  task,  certainly,  but  a  very  agreeable 
one,  and  one  which  doubtless  would  contribute  to  my  own 
improvement.  Then  to  have  her  with  you,  developing  under 
your  own  eye — can  you  think  of  any  thing  pleasanter  ?  Her 
having  been  in  this  country,  though  but  for  a  little  time,  will 
be  an  advantage  to  her ;  and,  if  it  is  best,  I  dare  say  she  will 
have  the  opportunity  of  coming  again  at  some  future  day. 
.  .  .  The  truth  is,  I  plead  half  for  my  own  sake ;  for  I 
begin  to  feel  that  I  shall  be  out  of  my  proper  element  when  I 
miss  my  accustomed  employment.  For  more  than  eight  years 
I  have  had  almost  constantly  some  young  girl,  in  whom  I  was 
more  especially  interested  than  others,  under  my  eye ;  and  I 
suppose  that  I  have  (partly  from  peculiar  taste,  and  partly  from 
favoring  circumstances)  had  more  influence  in  the  formation  of 
individual  character  in  our  school,  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
teachers  together.  The  interest  which  I  feel  in  some  of  those 
young  ladies  is  peculiarly  strong,  and  their  love  and  gratitude 
very  dear.  Dare  not  trust  Abby  with  me,  eh  ?  Ah  !  you 
don't  know  how  wise  and  dignified  I  can  b'B  when  occasion  re- 
quires it.  Not  one  of  my  pupils  was  surprised  at  the  news  of 
my  purpose  to  become  missionary.  Please  think  the  matter 
over  seriously,  and  if  there  are  not  insuperable  objections,  let 
your  heart  decide.  She  would  grow  dearer  and  more  interest- 
ing to  you  every  day,  and — perhaps  you  will  charge  me  with 
vanity,  but  I  must  out  with  it — I  am  afraid  she  will  not  (if  she 
is  like  her  papa)  be  understood  and  appreciated,  and  trained 


THE   MARRIAGE.  197 

accordingly.  I  am  afraid  her  peculiarities  will  be  curbed,  in- 
stead of  cultivated;  her  warm  impulses  checked,  instead  of 
directed.  Do  my  fears  smack  of  vanity  ?  It  is  natural,  doubt- 
less, for  us  to  think  we  can  manage  some  such  things  better 
than  anybody  else  ;  and  I  have  seen  many  lamentable  instances 
of  bad  training  from  mere  misapprehension  of  character  among 
sensible,  cultivated,  ^nd  pious  people. 

I  fully  expected  a  letter  from  you  last  night.  If  it  should 
fail  to-night  I  should  be  quite  alarmed.  You  were  not  well  when 
you  went  away.  Write  often — not  long,  but  very  often.  It 
is  strange  how  you  have  weaned  my  heart  from  those  whom 
I  have  formerly  loved  better  than  myself.  I  think  it  is  very 
naughty  of  you,  but  somehow — somehow  I  can't  help  being 
reconciled.     Adieu.     Thine  lovingly, 

Emily. 

I  have  been  very  much  alarmed,  since  you  went  away,  about 
my  side,  being  afraid  of  a  liver  complaint ;  but  I  have  quite 
recovered  from  that  fear  now.  I  have  found  an  outward  appli- 
cation which  helps  it,  and  it  is  much  better  to-day.  I  dare  say 
I  shall  be  able  to  go  out  to-morrow.  I  presume  I  took  a  cold, 
which  settled  there. 

Dr.  Judson  made  further  efforts,  in  New  York  and 
Philadelpliia,  to  arrange  for  her  proposed  new  publica- 
tion. The  copy-right  of  "  Trippings"  having  been  pur- 
chased from  Paine  &  Burgess,  the  new  work  was  subse- 
quently brought  out,  in  two  handsome  volumes,  under 
ih.Q  title  of  "  Alderbrook,"  by  Ticknor,  Kead  &  Fields, 
of  Boston.  After  her  arrival  in  India,  she  made  some 
revisions  and  additions  for  a  subsequent  issue. 

The  following  extracts  from  their  letters  reach  down 
to  the  time  of  their  marriage  : 


198  LIFE    OF    MRS.   EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 


FROM    DR.    JUDSON 

New  Toek,  May  19. 

.  So  happy  that  you  have  got  rid  of  the  pain  in  your 
side,  and  are  better  in  health.  But  you  don't  mention  the 
tooth.  I  found  your  dear  letter  of  the  lYth  on  my  return 
home  last  evening  at  eleven  o'clock.  Out  all  day  at  Brooklyn  ; 
such  crowds,  and  shaking  of  hands,  and  exclamations  of 
congratulation,  and  frequent  inquiries  from  old  acquaintances 

whether  Miss  C was  present  and  could  be  seen.     In  the 

evening  it  came  my  turn  to  address  the  assembly,  which  I  did 
in  a  small  speech — a  dead  one — but  Brother  Stow  galvanized 
it.  The  missionary  spirit  is  certainly  very  high,  but  well  regu- 
lated. Prospects  were  never  brighter.  We  all  feel  that  God  is 
blessing  us,  and  will  bless  us  more  and  more.  All  my  intelligent 
friends  say  that  our  affair  will  turn  out  well ;  that  it  is  honor- 
able to  both  parties,  and  that  the  more  you  are  known  the 
better  you  will  be  loved  and  the  match  approved.  But  I  shall 
love  you  no  better  for  that. 

"  All  thine  own  'mid  gladness,  love ; 
Fonder  still  'mid  sadness,  love." 

May  we  love  one  another  well,  but  Christ  better. 

We  will  talk  about  Abby  Ann  when  we  meet.     There  are 
serious  objections  to  your  proposal,  but  after  stating  them  all,  I 
shall  be  inclined  to  leave  the  matter  to  your  decision. 
Yours  (a  little  bit), 

A.  JuDSON. 

TO    DR.    JUDSON. 

Hamilton,  May  24. 

I  received  yours  of  the  18th  last  evening,  darling,  together 
with  one  dated  the  2 2d.  I  am  kept  at  home  another  Sabbath 
by  illness,  although  much  better  than  when  I  wrote  last.  The 
jaunt  in  the  stage-coach  made  my  side  worse,  and  I  find  this 


THE   MAKRIAGE.  199 

no  place  to  recruit  in.  My  last  days  at  home !  Every  thing — 
every  word,  every  look — brings  this  to  mind  constantly,  and 
although  I  am  always  cheerful,  it  wears  from  day  to  day  upon 
health  and  spirits.  O,  it  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  live — a  thing 
for  many  reasons  more  to  be  dreaded  than  death.  And  this 
new  life,  on  which  I  am  about  to  enter — in  every  respect  new 
and  crowded  with  responsibilities !  It  is  too  heavy  for  me ;  all 
the  future  is  shut  away  by  heavy  clouds  that  I  can  not  look 
beyond.  How  do  I  even  know  that  you  will  continue  to  love 
me,  except  from  habit,  when  you  know  me  still  better,  and  the 
knowledge  has  become  "  an  old  story  ?"  And  then,  who  can 
imagine  a  more  miserable  creature?  "As  thy  day  is,  so 
shall  thy  strength  be,"  is  a  glorious  promise  sometimes,  and 
sometimes  it  seems  to  be  utterly  without  meaning.  Now,  my 
faith  in  it  is  so  low,  and  my  dread  of  the  future  is  so  great,  that 
I  would  entreat  God  to  let  me  die  here,  and  be  buried  away 
from  all  this  tumult,  this  jarring,  these  trials,  duties,  and  cares, 
but  for  leaving  you  again  alone.  It  is  impossible  that  I  shall 
ever  be  any  thing  but  a  weight  upon  your  hands  and  heart. 
Why  has  all  this  been  suffered  to  come  about,  dearest  ?  Doubt- 
less for  good,  but  it  is  a  good'which  is  hidden.  I  was  making 
myself  indirectly  useful — improving  the  peculiar  talent  which 
God  had  given  me — perhaps  not  always  with  judgment,  but  my 
judgment  was  improving.  Now  I  have  placed  myself  in  a  po- 
sition to  be  canvassed,  and  have  the  little  influence  which  I  was 
exerting  destroyed.  You  were  a  demi-god,  and  I  have  brought 
you  down.  That  is  the  worst.  Do  you  recollect  the  evening  of 
our.  last  arrival  here  ?  The  same  feeling  comes  back  to  me  every 
time  I  go  into  the  parlor,  and  then  (forgive  me ;  you  know  I  love 
you  with  all  my  heart  and  soul)  I  am  sorry  that  we  ever  met. 
I  believe  that  some  regret  muH  come  over  you  sometimes.  In- 
deed, though  no  clairvoyant,  I  am  sometimes  quite  sure  that  I 
feel  it  shaping  itself  in  your  mind  among  the  strangers  whom 
you  meet  in  New  York  and  Philadelphia.     .     .     . 

I  understand  what  you  mean  by  exalting  genius  too  highly, 


200  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

and  in  looking  over  the  articles  will  try  to  express  myself  more 
clearly.  I  believe  genius  to  be  a  peculiar  gift  from  God,  requir- 
ing great  simplicity  of  character,  purity,  and  innocence  for  its 
proper  development.  When  this  gift  is  desecrated  its  possessor 
is  rendered  miserable  in  proportion  to  his  superiority  to  other 
men,  and  proportionally  depraved.  The  angels  that  sinned  and 
fell  became  devils.  There  is  something  in  the  inspiration  of 
genius  partaking  of  religion — a  hallowing  influence ;  but  men 
possessing  this  gift  are  exposed  to  peculiar  temptations,  and 
frequently  fall ;  perhaps  not  more  frequently  than  others,  but 
the  fall  is  more  obvious  because  the  descent  is  greater.  .  . 
Yet,  wherever  you  find  it  (even  in  Byron),  it  has  some  touches 
to  show  its  origin ;  like  Milton's  Fallen  One,  you  can  still  see 
in  it  the  angel ;  otherwise  it  were  less  dangerous.  Christians 
do  not  do  well  to  eschew  the  aid  of  genius.  Some  of  the  in- 
spired writers  had  also  this  inspiration,  as  David,  Isaiah,  and 
John  of  Patmos.     ... 

FROM    N.    p.    WILLIS. 

New  York,  May  26. 

My  Dear  Friend, — 

I  have  delayed  replying  to  your  letter  till  I  could  make 
some  further  inquiries  touching  your  book.  And,  after  all,  I 
have  no  news  to  give,  for  the  best  reception  I  had  was  from  a 
publisher  who  said  that  the  news  of  you  from  India  would  give 
an  impetus  to  the  curiosity  about  you  that  might  make  it  ad- 
visable to  publish  the  revised  edition ;  but  that  the  first  edition 
was  still  in  possession  of  the  field.  Apropos  of  Field — ;send 
for  him  and  talk  to  him  about  it.  He  is  the  partner  of  Ticknor 
of  Boston,  and  will  be  delighted  to  render  any  service  to  Fanny 
Forester.  He  Avill  do  all  that  is  possible.  I  am  myself  a 
wretched  bargain-maker,  though  I  have  done  my  best. 

I  should  have  understood  Dr.  Judson  by  a  single  look  at  his 
face.  It  is  a  physiognomy  of  great  sensibility  and  enthusiasm, 
and  natural  moral  elevation.    He  looks  refined  and  very  gentle- 


THE   MARRIAGE.  201 

manlike,  and  I  am  sure  is  what  the  English  call  a  "  fine  fellow." 
I  am  very  sure,  since  I  have  seen  him,  that  you  are  to  be  very 
happy. 

I  shall  be  in  Boston  the  first  of  next  week,  and  shall  hope  to 
find  you  there.     God  bless  you. 

Ever  afi'ectionately  yours, 

N.  P.  W. 

FROM    DR.   JUDSON. 

New  Toek,  May  26. 

I  send  you  a  copy  of  the  improved  engraving,  and  one  of 
the  old,  that  you  may  see  the  diff"erence.  I  think  the  improve- 
ments are  very  considerable.  If  you  have  any  farther  altera- 
tions to  suggest,  write  immediately  to  Sartain  through  Mr. 
Gillette.  I  had  an  idea  of  a  closer  sleeve,  more  like  what  you 
wear ;  but  it  would  probably  not  have  been  in  good  keeping 
with  the  rest  of  the  costume,  and  perhaps  not  easily  done,  as 
you  will  perceive  he  has  made  the  new  sleeve  out  of  the*old.  I 
got  your  letter  of  Monday  on  arriving  here  last  night.  This 
morning  I  wrote  to  Lippincott  through  Mr.  Gillette,  and  may 
get  an  answer  before  I  send  this.  I  have  also  been  to  the  Har- 
pers, and  shall  have  definite  proposals  from  them  to  morrow. 
But  they  talk  of  "  8  or  10  per  cent."  only,  and  they  wish  to 
have  the  matter  all  clear  with  Paine  &  Burgess,  before  they  can 
think  of  engaging.  This,  I  suspect,  was  the  real  reason  why 
Carey  &  Hart  objected  to  including  any  part  of  the  "  Trippings." 
I  then  went  to  Paine  &  Burgess.  They  are  very  gentlemanly, 
but  they  say  that  all  they  ever  intended  to  decHne  publishing 
was  a  revised  and  enlarged  edition,  such  as  you  proposed. 
They  never  thought  of  giving  up  the  "Trippings,"  nor  could 
they  when  they  had  paid  1-190  for  the  stereotype  plates  ;  and 
they  intended  to  proceed  and  publish  another  edition  as  soon  as 
the  first  is  out.  I  then  requested  them  to  make  out  their  bill, 
and  prepare  to  give  me  a  quit-claim  to-morrow.  All  say  that 
there  is  no  other  way  in  which  we  can  suppress  indefinite  edi- 

9* 


202  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

tions  of  that  work,  and  it  is  really  altogether  reasonable.  So 
don't  be  worried  about  it.  I  will  get  all  these  matters  arranged 
before  I  leave  these  parts,  or  see  them  in  a  fair  way. 

Don't  you  think  that  if  I  had  foreseen  some  things,  I  should 
never  have  put  my  foot  into  a  certain  puddle,  and  that  it  is 
great  forbearance  and  condescension  that  I  do  not  pull  it  out 
now  ?  Do,  dear,  think  so  with  all  your  might,  and  perhaps  you 
will  love  me  more,  and  your  precious  love  I  value  beyond  all 
money.     .     .     In  great  haste  to  reach  the  mail. 

Yours  ever, 

A.  JuDSON. 

FROM   DR.    JUDSON. 

New  York,  May  27. 

I  have  got  the  stereotype  plates  out  of  the  hands  of  Paine 
&  Burgess,  and  had  them  packed  up,  ordered  to  be  sent, 
and  deposited  at  Lewis  Colby's.  They  cost  $190.  P.  &  B, 
have  also  paid  me  $70  for  you,  being  the  percentage  on  the 
whole  edition,  beside  what  they  have  already  paid  you.  So 
that  your  business  with  them  is  closed.  The  $70  I  will  send 
you,  and  take  a  receipt,  dear,  to  avoid  mistakes.  The  Harpers 
decline  "publishing  the  proposed  volume  of  miscellanies  by 
Fanny  Forester  partly  on  account  of  the  pressure  of  preengage- 
ments,  and  also  from  the  present  inauspicious  aspect  of  political 
affairs  for  all  kinds  of  literary  enterprise."  Wiley  &  Putnam 
ditto — with  the  additional  remark  that  there  has  been  a  glut 
of  light  writing  for  a  year  or  two  past,  and  the  reading  public 
is  satiated.  I  see  no  chance  of  finding  a  publisher  in  New 
York;  perhaps  I  shall  hear  something  favorable  from  Phila- 
delphia. The  Harpers  say  that  next  fall  they  may  be  induced 
to  undertake,  but  can  not  give  any  definite  encouragement.  I 
guess  we  will  not  indulge  the  spoiled  public  at  present.  .  .  . 
The  truth  is  that  the  present  is  a  most  unfavorable  time  for  any 
literary  speculation.  People's  minds  are  full  of  the  Mexican 
war,  and  probable  rupture  with  England  and  all  the  world.   Too 


THE    MARRIAGE.  203 

much  stern  reality  to  allow  time  for  fiction  ;  too  close  engage- 
ment with  Mars,  to  allow  time  for  flirting  with  Venus  and  the 
Muses.  You  can  arrange  for  the  purchase  of  the  additional  lot, 
if  you  please,  for  $300,  before  I  come,  and  for  the  fence  at  $50. 
I  shall  be  able  to  let  you  have  as  much  of  the  sum  appropriated 
for  your  outfit,  that  is  $200,  as  you  may  wish.  The  $300  for 
myself  I  have  declined.     .     .     . 

Is  not  this  a  beautiful  letter,  full  of  gold  and  pearls,  and  costly 
array  ?  Do  not  wear  it  in  your  hair.  It  will  be  contrary  to 
Scripture.     .     .     . 

I  have  just  had  another  interview  with  Mrs. .     I  am 

afraid  a  shall  get  to  dislike  her.  She  is  a  woman  whom  I  could 
make  some  use  of.  She  has  a  sharp,  strong  intellect — is  a  good 
writer  in  the  rough,  but  not  in  the  nice.  No  heart — no  amia- 
bility— and  what  is  worse,  glaringly  envious.     .     .     . 

May  28th.  Your  letters,  the  one  misdirected  to  Anna  Maria, 
and  that  of  the  24th  have  come  to  my  hand  and  heart.  I  feel 
thankful  to  God  that  He  has  given  us  such  congeniality  of  taste, 
that  we  like  and  dislike  the  same  persons  and  things.     I  allude 

to  what  you  said  of  Mrs .    I  presume  our  sentiments  and 

feelings  regarding  her  are  just  the  same.  Still  it  is  best  to  cher- 
ish no  strong  prejudices,  but  to  try  to  love  all  and  be  loved  by 
all. 

FROM    DR.    JUDSON. 

Utioa,  May  29, 1846. 

...  Just  before  leaving  New  York  last  night,  I  received 
a  line  from  Lippincott,  saying  that  he  "  accepts  the  proposition 
of  publishing  Fanny  Forester's  works  with  pleasure,  provided 
the  volume  contains  enough  new  matter  to  prevent  it  from 
being  termed  a  reprint."  He  says  nothing  about  terms,  but  I 
mentioned  twelve  and  a  half  per  cent,  to  Mr.  Gillette,  and  I 
suppose  that  that  is  understood.  I  have  also  opened  a  corre- 
spondence with  a  house  in  Boston  on  the  same  subject.  Lewis 
Colby  of  New  York  is  strongly  inclined  to  undertake  the  pub- 


204  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

lishing  of  the  three  Utica  works,  partly  encouraged  by  the  hope 
of  getting  the  memoir  of  the  late  Mrs.  Judson. 

I  arrived  here  at  two  o'clock,  much  disappointed  in  finding 
that  Anna  Maria  had  gone.  I  should  have  answered  her  very 
interesting  and  excellent  letter,  which  I  received  in  New  York, 
but  expected  to  see  her  in  a  day  or  two  and  talk  over  the  mat- 
ter.* And  that  is  my  present  expectation.  I  have  seen  her 
good,  appropriate  letter  to  Mr.  Wiley,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
the  whole  affair  will  be  arranged  satisfactorily. 

I  have  got  a  nice  time  this  evening  and  to-morrow  morning 
to  bring  up  my  arrears  of  correspondence,  which  I  intend  to 
do  as  soon  as  I  have  dispatched  this  letter — the  last  letter,  I 
hope,  that  I  shall  ever  be  pestered  to  write  to  Emily  Chubbuck. 
What  oceans  of  ink  I  have  expended  on  that  girl ! 

I  inclose  you  a  line  from  Mrs.  Stevens,  the  only  one  that  I 
have  lately  received  from  Maulmain. 

Notwithstanding  the  nonsense  I  write  you,  I  am  full  and 
overflowing  with  most  serious,  joyful  thoughts.  The  past,  the 
present,  and  the  future  are  before  me.  If  I  should  attempt  to 
write,  I  should  not  know  where  to  begin  or  to  end.  May  we 
meet  "in  love  and  happiness."  May  God  crown  our  union 
with  His  blessing,  that  we  may  be  blessings  to  one  another 
through  life  and  to  all  eternity  ! 

I  love  you  "  a  little  bit,"  but  I  have  never  loved  you  so 
much  as  you  deserve. 

Ever  thine, 

A.  Judson. 

Emily  was  now  in  Hamilton,  awaiting  the  coming  of 
him  who  was  to  take  her  beyond  the  ocean.  As  she 
moved  among  her  parents  and  relatives,  conscious  that 
it  was  "  the  last  time,"  that  her  farewell  was  soon  to  be 
uttered,  and  an  ocean  to  roll  between  her  and  all  she  had 

*  Beferring  to  her  baptism. 


THE   MAREIAGE.  205 

« 

before  loved,  no  wonder  that  her  heart  sometimes  sunk 
within  her,  and  it  required  even  more  than  her  all  of 
faith  to  banish  the  gloom  that  rested  upon  her  spirit. 
From  her  heart's  fountain  gushed  forth  the  following 
lines  : 

TO     MY      FA  THER. 

A  welcome  for  thy  child,  father, 

A  welcome  give  to-day  ; 
Although  she  may  not  come  to  thee 

As  when  she  went  away  ; 
Though  never  in  her  olden  nest 

Is  she  to  fold  her  wing, 
And  live  again  the  days  when  first 

She  learned  to  fly  and  sing. 

Oh,  happy  were  those  days,  father. 

When  gathering  round  thy  knee. 
Seven  sons  and  daughters  called  thee  sire — 

We  come  again  but  three ; 
The  grave  has  claimed  thy  loveliest  ones, 

And  sterner  things  than  death 
Have  left  a  shadow  on  thy  brow, 

A  sigh  upon  thy  breath. 

And  one — one  of  the  three,  father, 

Now  comes  to  thee  to  claim 
Thy  blessing  on  another  lot. 

Upon  another  name. 
Where  tropic  suns  for  ever  burn, 

Far  over  land  and  wave. 
The  child,  whom  thou  hast  loved,  would  make 

Her  hearth-stone  and  her  grave. 


206  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

Thou'lt  never  wait  again,  father, 
Thy  daughter's  coming  tread  ; 

She  ne'er  will  see  thy  face  on  earth- 
So  count  her  with  thy  dead  ; 

But  in  the  land  of  life  and  love, 
Not  sorrowing  as  now, 

She'll  come  to  thee,  and  come,  perchance, 
With  jewels  on  her  brow. 

Perchance  ; — I  do  not  know,  father, 

If  any  part  be  given 
My  erring  hand,  among  the  guides, 

Who  point  the  way  to  heaven ; 
But  it  would  be  a  joy  untold 

Some  erring  foot  to  stay ; 
Remember  this,  when,  gathering  round. 

Ye  for  the  exile  pray. 

Let  nothing  here  be  changed,  father, 

I  would  remember  all. 
Where  every  ray  of  sunshine  rests. 

And  where  the  shadows  fall. 
And  now  I  go  ;  with  faltering  foot 

I  pass  the  threshhold  o'er, 
And  gaze,  through  tears,  on  that  dear  roof. 

My  shelter  nevermore. 

On  the  2d  of  June  they  were  married,  the  Eev.  Dr. 
Nathaniel  Kendrick  officiating.  It  was  in  the  early  part 
of  that  long  and  agonizing  illness  in  which  Dr.  Kendrick 
traveled  by  inches  of  indescribable  torture  toward  the 
grave.  He  bad  already  betaken  himself  to  bis  bed  under 
the  assurance  from  the  physician  that  bis  case  was  past 
relief,  but  witb  more  than  the  calmness 


THE  MARRIAGE.  207 

"  Of  him  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 
About  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams ;" 

for  his  was  ""the  morning  dream  of  life's  eternal  day." 
This  was  the  last,  or  nearly  the  last  occasion  on  which 
he  quitted  his  house.  Pale  and  feeble,  he  arose  from  his 
couch,  and  walked  the  few  rods  which  separated  his  house 
from  the  home  of  Emily,  to  pronounce  the  words  which 
gave  the  pride  and  ornament  of  our  village  into  the  arms 
of  her  noble  suitor.  The  wedding  was  strictly  private, 
there  being  present  but  the  family  and  her  especial  friends, 
Miss  Sheldon  and  Miss  Anable  from  Utica.  With  what 
tearful  gratitude  did  Miss  Sheldon  look  back  to  the  agency 
which  she  and  her  sister  had  had  in  preparing  Emily  for 
so  hallowed  a  destiny;  with  what  admiring  wonder  must 
she  have  regarded  the  mystery  of  that  Providence  that 
directs  our  paths  !  How  little  had  they  thought  when 
the  timid,  trembling  girl  first  glided  into  their  presence, 
poor  in  all  but  the  abounding  wealth  of  heart  and  genius, 
that  she  was  yet  to  stand  before  the  world  the  partner  of 
the  first  missionary  of  the  age,  the  successor  of  his  two 
admirable  wives,  and  to  prove  herself  worthy  of  so  hal- 
lowed a  companionship  !  And  it  must  have  been  with 
no  superficial  emotions  that  Dr.  Kendrick  saw  before 
him  that  noble  missionary,  and  by  his  side  the  girl  who 
many  years  before  had  addressed  him  a  letter  proposing 
to  devote  herself  to  the  missionary  work,  and  whom  he 
had  characteristically  advised  "  to  await  the  openings  of 
Providence."  What  an  unanticipated  opening  of  Provi- 
dence was  this  ! 

Dr.  Judson  and  his  bride  spent  three  or  four  days  with 
her  parents,  exchanging  greetings  with  their  numerous 
friends,  and  accepting  their  hospitalities.  It  was  to  many 
a  memorable  occasion.     Mrs.  Judson's  quiet  dignity  and 


208  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

simplicity  of  manner,  the  joy  of  satisfied  and  happy 
love  sparkling  in  her  eye,  yet  tempered  by  the  shadow 
of  her  near  and  final  parting  from  those  whom  she 
loved,  lent  to  her  an  added  charm ;  while  Dr.  Judson, 
with  renovated  health  and  buoyant  spirits,  casting  off 
all  reserve,  gave  loose  to  his  matchless  powers  of  capti- 
vation,  and  made  himself  the  life  and  soul  of  many 
delighted  circles. 

They  spent  the  following  Sabbath  in  Utica.  Here  Dr. 
Judson  immersed  Miss  Anna  Maria  Anable,  who  had  been 
previously  a  member  of  the  Presbyterian  church,  but  for 
some  time  a  Baptist  in  her  religious  convictions.  The 
day  was  one  deeply  interesting  to  Mrs.  Judson.  She 
could  not  wholly  forego  the  hope  that  her  most  intimate 
and  sympathizing  friend,  now  united  with  her  in  a  more 
perfect  Christian  fellowship,  she  might  yet  have  the 
privilege  of  welcoming  as  a  co-laborer  on  the  far-off 
shores  of  heathenism.  It  was  not  to  be.  Kather,  that 
friend  was  to  receive  her  back  when  returning,  a  few 
years  later,  "weary  and  desolate"  to  the  parent  roof,  to 
join  parents  and  sister  in  shedding  around  her  bereaved 
spirit  and  dying-bed  the  sweets  of  sisterly  and  Christian 
sympathy,  and  to  spread  a  wing  of  motherly  shelter  over 
the  "  bird"  that  had  sought  her  Indian  nest. 

They  proceeded  on  the  following  week  to  New  York, 
thence  to  Boston,  Plymouth,  Bradford,  etc.,  to  pay  a  final 
visit  to  Dr.  Judson's  sister  and  to  his  daughter  Abby 
Ann  (then  at  Bradford),  thence  to  Boston,  whence  they 
had  anticipated  sailing  on  the  1st  of  July.  The  vessel, 
however,  was  delayed  until  the  11th.  On  the  30th  of 
June  a  large  missionary  meeting  was  held,  at  which  Dr. 
Judson  made  a  few  oral  remarks.  He  had  prepared 
a  written  speech,  which  was  read  by  Kev.  Dr.  Hague, 


THE   MARRIAGE.  209 

beautifully  characteristic  in  its  literary  finish,  and  its 
glowing  Christian  sentiments.  "Where/'  he  asks,  "are 
those  who  moved  among  the  dark  scenes  of  Eangoon, 
and  Ava,  and  Tavoy  ?  And  where  are  the  gentle  yet 
firm  spirits  which  tenanted  forms  delicate  in  structure, 
but  careless  of  the  storm — now  broken  and  scattered, 
and  strewn  like  the  leaves  of  autumn,  under  the  shadow 
of  overhanging  trees,  and  on  remote  islands  of  the 
sea .?" 

The  following  letters  written  and  received  about  this 
time  closed  her  correspondence  with  her  friends  Messrs. 
Wallace  and  Willis  : 


TO    HORACE    B.    WALLACE,  ESQ. 

Boston,  June  19,  1846. 

My  Dear  Mr.  Wallace, — 

I  received  your  kind,  very  kind  letter,  in  due  time  ;  and  you 
may  be  assured  that  it  was  highly  valued.  It  is  said  that  "  bless- 
ings brighten  as  they  take  their  flight;"  and  although  such  heart- 
blessings  as  are  furnished  us  by  social  intercourse,  were  always 
very  dear  to  me,  I  do  not  know  but  I  must  acknowledge  that  the 
poet  has  told  truth.  As  the  time  for  sailing  draws  near,  and  I  am 
doing  up  my  last  work  on  this  side  the  globe,  cords  begin  to  tighten 
around  me  so  closely  that  it  seems  almost  death  to  dissever  them. 
And  yet  I  am  cheerful  and  strangely  happy.  There  is  a  great 
object  before  me — my  hand  is  about  to  be  Jilled,  and  so  I  shall 
not  waste  my  time  on  follies.  Do  not  think  now  that  I  am  an- 
ticipating perfect  happiness,  or  any  thing  perfect.  I  know  some- 
thing of  the  disappointments  incident  to  life,  and  something  of 
my  own  weakness  and  inefficiency.  I  am  only  better  satisfied 
to  have  an  object  before  me — a  great  one,  which  does  not  begin 
and  end  with  this  life. 

I  should  not  venture  to  ask  you  to  come  to  Boston,  but  that 
you  promised  it ;  but  it  would  afford  me  great  satisfaction  to  see 


210  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

you  here.  We  sail  in  the  Faneuil  Hall  on  the  first  day  of  July ; 
if  there  should  be  any  delay,  you  would  probably  learn  it  by  the 
papers — though  I  presume  there  will  not. 

Now,  God  in  heaven  guide,  guard,  and  bless  you,  my  friend ! 
I  hope  to  meet  you  again ;  but  if  I  do  not,  there  is  a  shadow- 
less world  where  angels  dwell ;  and  I  believe  that  the  redeemed 
are  furnished  with  their  wings,  and  their  harps,  and  their  hearts 
of  love.     May  we  both  be  among  the  redeemed.     Till  then, 

adieu  1 

Emily  C.  Judson. 

No.  12  Pemberton  Square. 

FROM    N.    P.    WILLIS. 

Washington,  June  26,  1S46. 

Your  letter  enclosing  the  money  for  books  I  received  only 
yesterday  from  Boston,  with  two  forwardings,  and  to-day  comes 
this,  written  as  you  left  Utica.  I  re6nclose  the  money,  for  the 
books  can  be  had  without  it.  I  spoke  to  Secretary  Bancroft 
at  a  party  last  night,  and  he  was,  of  course,  proud  of  the  op- 
portunity to  present  you  with  his  books,  and  so  will  be  Pres- 
cott  and  Longfellow — and  myself.  I  shall  make  you  up  a 
box  of  books  from  my  own  stores  to  take  with  you,  and  I 
shall  be  in  Boston  when  you  sail,  and  see  you,  with  a  tearful 
God-speed,  oft"  the  shore.  Will  you  write  me  at  what  time  pre- 
cisely you  will  be  in  Boston,  directing  your  letter  here. 

The  more  I  think  of  your  marriage,  the  more  I  think  you 
are  doing  the  best  for  your  happiness.  Your  husband  has  a 
prodigal  largeness  of  nature,  and  the  kindest  and  most  aff'ection- 
ate  of  hearts  ;  and  you  required  a  trying  and  unusual  destiny 
to  fill  the  capabilities  of  which  late  years  have  seen  the  danger- 
ous formation.  Both  for  your  heart  and  your  peculiar  mind, 
therefore.  Providence  has  sent  you  the  needful  scope,  and  you 
will  be  happy.  Dr.  Judson's  errand  abroad  will  soon  draw 
on  your  volcanic  enthusiasm,  and  the  vent  will  be  healthful  to 
soul  and  body.     With   love   satisfied   and   talents   employed, 


THE   MARRIAGE.  211 

change  of  climate  and  improved  healtli,  you  will  bless  God 
for  a  merciful  direction  of  your  destiny.     .     .     . 
Ever  yours  affectionately, 

N.  P.  Willis. 

FROM    N.    P.    WILLIS. 

New  Yoek,  July  6, 1846. 

Dearest  Friend, — 

I  had  intended  to  be  in  Boston  during  the  last  week  of 
your  stay,  and  to  be  present  at  your  embarkation.  A  little 
closer  approach  to  the  scene  which  that  embarkation  would 
probably  be — with  the  number  of  Mr.  Judson's  friends  and  the 
enthusiasm  felt  for  him — made  me  shrink  from  compelling 
you  to  reserve  for  me  any  of  the  attention  which  those  friends 
will  expect  from  you  at  the  parting  hour,  and  still  more  to 
shrink  from  adding  to  the  emotion  of  that  troubled  hour  the 
pain  of  parting  with  one  who  must  be  dear  to  you  as  the  foster- 
father  of  your  genius.  I  see  that  it  is  better  that  we  exchange 
our  farewells,  as  we  have  exchanged  all  other  feelings,  on 
paper.     You  must  not  think  hardly  of  me  for  this. 

I  had  another  intention,  which  I  had  not  matured,  but  which 
I  can  do  after  you  are  gone.  I  heard  that  Prescott  was  away 
from  Boston,  and  I  thought  I  would  make  up  the  parcel  of 
books  for  you  and  send  them  by  the  next  ship.  Will  you 
leave  word,  and  let  me  leave  them  with  Mr.  Colby,  to  be 
forwarded  ? 

Write  me  a  word  of  farewell  before  you  sail.  Give  my 
warmest  remembrance  and  every  possible  kind  wish  to  your 
husband.  May  God  preserve  and  restore  you  to  us.  Write  to 
me  from  India.  Command  me  freely  in  all  that  you  wish  me 
to  do.     Farewell. 

Yours,  ever  most  faithfully, 

N.  P.  Willis. 


212  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

Many  personal  friends  and  friends  of  missions  had  been 
drawn  together  from  different  quarters  of  the  country 
to  witness  the  embarkation.  Overwhelmed  with  kind 
attentions,  Mrs.  Judson  could  but  drop  hasty  adieus  to 
her  distant  friends.  The  following  note  was  in  acknowl- 
edgment of  a  present  received  from  some  of  her  pupils 
in  Utica  : 

TO    THE    MISSIONARY    SOCIETY,    UTICA    FEMALE    ACADEMY. 

Boston,  July  7, 1846. 

My  Very,  Very  Dear  Friends, — 

I  have  postponed  writing  you  till  the  present  moment, 
hoping  that  I  should  find  at  least  one  half  hour  of  leisure.  But 
my  time  is  constantly  occupied,  so  you  must  excuse  the  hand- 
work in  consideration  of  the  heart's  still  lingering  with  you. 
I  have  received  many  presents  since  I  left  Utica,  both  from 
societies  and  individuals ;  but  the  work  done  in  that  dear 
school-room  has  a  peculiar  charm  to  me,  bearing,  as  it  does, 
the  traces  of  loved  fingers.  May  the  kind  interest  you  have 
exhibited  in  me  awaken  a  yet  deeper  interest  in  those  among 
whom  my  future  lot  is  cast ;  and  those  of  you  who  pray  (do 
not  all  of  you?)  pray  for  the  Burmese  and  for  me. 

Remember  me  when  I  am  gone;  speak  of  me  sometimes 
kindly ;  forgive  and  forget  my  thousand  faults  and  follies ; 
serve  God  truly^  and  may  He  bless  you  ever ! 

Affectionately  and  gratefully, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 

A  WORD  OF  farewell  TO  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCHES  WITH  WHICH 
I  HAVE  BEEN  CONNECTED. 

Boston,  July  6,  1S46. 

In  dissevering  the  various  ties  which  bind  me  to  the  land  of 
my  birth,  I  find  one  of  peculiar  strength  and  interest.  It  is  not 
easy  to  say  farewell,  when  father  and  mother,  brother  and  sis- 


THE    MARRIAGE.  213 

ter,  and  those  scarcely  less  dear,  are  left  behind  us  at  the  word ; 
it  is  not  easy  to  break  away  from  the  sweet,  simple  attractions 
of  social  life,  or  the  increasing  fascinations  of  a  world  but  too 
bright  and  beautiful ;  but  there  are  other  ties  to  break,  other 
sorrowful  farewells  to  be  spoken.  The  parents  and  friends, 
brothers  and  sisters,  whom  Christ  has  given  us,  and  who  for  His 
sake  have  loved  us,  occupy  no  remote  corner  of  our  hearts. 
Su<ih  friends  of  mine  are,  I  trust,  scattered  over  various  parts 
of  the  country;  those  whose  prayers  are  at  this  very  moment 
strengthening  both  hand  and  heart.  Oh,  I  know  you  have 
prayed  for  me,  ye  whose  prayers  "  avail  much ;"  for,  casting 
away  my  broken  reed,  and  trusting  in  God  only,  I  have  been 
made  strong. 

We  do  not  always  feel  the  deepest  love  for  those  with  whom 
we  are  visibly  connected ;  so,  though  the  beloved  church  in  the 
village  of  Hamilton  has  never  been  my  home,  the  strongest  tie 
binding  me  to  it  is  not  that  the  names  of  those  to  whom  God 
first  gave  me,  are  enrolled  among  its  members.  I  have  often 
worshiped  there ;  there  a  resolution,  a  consecration  of  self  which 
cost — the  Omniscient  only  knows  how  great  an  effort — received 
ready  encouragement  and  sympathy ;  there  prayers  were  offer- 
ed, tears  wept,  and  blessings  spoken,  which  I  shall  bear  upon 
my  heart^—a  precious  burden ;  and  thither  I  shall  turn  for  fu- 
ture prayers,  future  encouragement,  and  future  sympathy.  Oh, 
my  eyes  grow  dim  when  I  think  of  the  loved  ones,  friends  of 
Jesus,  in  my  own  dear  home — the  beautiful  village  of  Hamil- 
ton. 

There  is  another  church  with  whom  I  have  a  more  intimate 
connection — the  one  whose  commendation  I  bear  to  a  strange 
people  in  a  strange  land,  but  worshiping  no  strange  God.  There 
are  to  me  no  dearer  ones  on  earth,  than  a  little  circle  at  TJtica, 
with  whom  I  have  hoped  and  feared,  rejoiced,  and  wept,  and 
prayed.  God  grant  that  I  may  join  that  same  circle  above! 
that  the  tremulous  voice  which  thousands  of  times  has  borne  a 
confession  of  our  sins  and  follies  up  to  our  Intercessor,  I  may 


214  LIFE    OF    MRS.    EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

hear  again  in  songs  of  praise ;  that  when  the  thin  gray  hairs  are 
brightened,  and  the  heavy  foot  made  swift  and  light,  I  may  re- 
turn heavenly  love  for  the  counsels  to  which  I  have  so  often 
listened.  I  do  not  ask  to  be  remembered  there,  for  I  know  that 
parting  in  person  can  not  mar  the  union  of  spirit ;  and  when 
my  hand  is  strong,  and  my  heart  light,  when  Christ  confers 
upon  me  any  peculiar  blessing,  I  shall  think  that  Deacon  Shel- 
don and  those  who  love  him  and  me,  are  praying  for  me. 

There  is  another  little  church  worshiping  God  quietly  away 
in  an  obscure  village ;  and  with  that  church  before  all  others, 
I  claim  my  home.  All  the  associations  of  childhood  cluster 
there ;  and  there  still  sparkle  the  bright  waters  where  the  re- 
vered Chinese  missionary,  now  on  his  way  back  to  the  scene  of 
his  labors,  administered  the  initiatory  rite  of  the  church,  when 
she  consented  to  receive  the  trembling,  doubting  child  into  her 
bosom.  Oh,  the  church  at  Morrisville,  the  sober,  prayerful 
ones  who  were  my  first  Christian  guides,  must  let  my  heart 
have  a  home  among  them  still.  There  are  my  Christian  fathers 
and  mothers,  my  teachers  in  the  Sabbath  school,  and  those 
whom  I  have  taught ;  the  dearest,  sweetest  associations  of  my 
life  cluster  around  the  little  missionary  society,  the  evening 
Bible  class,  the  prayer  circle,  in  which  I  first  mingled ;  and  the 
little  plans  for  doing  good,  in  which  I  was  allowed  to  partici- 
pate, when  I  first  loved  my  Saviour,  are  as  fresh  in  memory  as 
though  formed  yesterday. 

Dear  friends  of  Jesus  at  Morrisville,  ye  whose  prayers  first 
drew  me  to  the  protection  of  your  church,  whose  prayers  sus- 
tained me  through  the  many  years  that  I  remained  with  you, 
whose  prayers,  I  trust,  have  followed  me  during  the  little  time 
that  we  have  been  separated,  will  you  pray  for  me  still  ?  When 
dangers  and  difiiculties  are  about  me,  will  you  plead  earnestly, 
"  God  help  her  ?"  Will  you  pray  for  me,  now  that  we  are  to 
see  each  other's  faces  no  more  in  this  world  ?  Ah,  I  know  you 
will ;  so  let  me  ask  the  same  for  those  among  who  I  go  to  labor, 
those  who  know  not  Christ  and  His  salvation,  and  yet,  "  are 


THE   MARRIAGE.  215 

without  excuse."     Pray  for  them,  and  for  me,  that  I  may  do 
them  good. 

Emily  Judson. 

On  the  9th  she  writes  to  her  sister,  "  I  meant  to  have 
written  you  before,  but  if  you  could  know  what  a  siege 
I  have  had  !  I  have  been  crowded  almost  to  death  with 
company.  Sometimes  my  hand  has  been  so  swollen  with 
constant  shaking  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  get  on  a 
glove,  and  I  have  been  obliged  to  use  my  left  hand." 
She  had  been  to  see  her  cabin  in  the  Fanueil  Hall  and 
found  all  things  to  her  mind.  The  prospect  before  her 
was  solemn  but  not  saddening.  She  speaks  of  having 
made  the  acquaintance  of  many  delightful  people,  and 
mentions  with  especial  gr«.titude  the  family  of  Mr.  G-ard- 
ner  Colby  by  whom  they  had  been  entertained  with  a 
most  unwearied  and  munificent  hospitality.  On  Satur- 
day, July  11th,  amidst  the  tearful  adieus  of  hundreds, 
they  went  on  board  the  Fanueil  Hall,  Miss.  Lydia  Lilly- 
bridge,  Mrs.  Judson's  associate  in  teaching  at  Utica,  was 
now  also  an  associate  in  her  devotion  to  the  missionary 
work.  From  the  ship  Emily  addressed  the  following 
lines  to  her  mother  : 

We  have  just  said  good-bye  to  thousands  and  are  fairly  off. 
The  land  is  a  small  speck  in  the  distance — all  strange,  strange ! 
I  have  an  opportunity  to  send  back  by  the  pilot,  and  I  thought 
you  would  like  to  know  how  very,  very  well  I  am.  Notwith- 
standing all  my  fatigues,  I  have  not  been  nearly  so  well  this 
spring.  The  ship  is  beautiful  and  comfortable.  .  .  You  must 
not  have  a  single  sad  thought  about  me,  for  I  am  very  happy, 
ind  God  is  with  us  on  the  sea  as  on  the  land.  Pray  for  me 
jften,  for  that  is  now  your  only  means  of  keeping  harm  from 
me." 


216  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

Emily  has  thus  bid  her  "  native  land  good  night/'  and 
strong  in  love  and  trust  in  her  husband,  and  still  more 
in  her  husband's  God,  turns  her  face  joyfully  toward  that 
mysterious  Orient  that  had  visited  the  visions  of  her 
childhood.  Dr.  Judson  probably  has  never  breathed  so 
freely  in  America  as  now,  that,  on  his  favorite  element, 
his  impatient  heart  leaps  forward  to  its  eastern  home. 
The  gallant  vessel  speeds  her  on  her  way  ;  the  "  fair  white 
cloud  of  snowy  sail"  soon  blends  with  the  blue  of  the  hori- 
zon, and  only  fancy,  and  the  invisible  messengers  of  light, 
can  accompany  the  wanderers  over  the  trackless  path  of 
the  deep.  A  happy  voyage  to  that  noble  band  !  We 
turn  tearfully  away  ;  the  reader  may  close  the  book,  and 
when  he  resumes  his  reading,  Emily  will  be  sitting  under 
a  palm  tree,  or  riding  on  an  elephant,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  globe. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

OTJ  TW  ARD     BOUND. 

"And  o'er  the  hills,  and  far  a  way- 
Bey  ond  their  utmost  purple  rim; 
Beyond  the  night,  across  the  day. 
Through  all  the  world  she  followed  him." 

"  Pass  we  the  long,  unvarying  course ;  the  track 
Oft  trod,  that  never  leaves  a  trace  behind ; 
Pass  we  the  calm,  the  gale,  the  change,  the  tack, 
And  each  well  known  caprice  of  wave  and  wind ; 
Pass  we  the  joys  and  sorrows  sailors  find, 
Cooped  in  their  winged,  sea-girt  citadel; 
The  foul,  the  fair,  the  contrary,  the  kind, 
As  breezes  rise  and  fall,  and  billows  swell. 
Till  on  some  jocund  morn — ^lo,  land !  and  all  is  well." 

Our  last  sentence  was  a  little  over-hasty.  It  is  a  long 
way  from  the  gates  of  the  sunset  to  the  gates  of  the 
morning.  When  the  curtain  next  rises  on  our  heroine, 
she  has  overpassed  the  dark  and  stormy  waters  of  the 
Atlantic,  encountered  the  hurricanes  that  sweep  round 
the  southern  cape  of  Africa,  and  is  beginning  to  catch 
the  golden  sunshine  and  the  balmy  breath  of  the  Indian 
seas.  She  has  caught  glimpses  of  the  strange  and 
gigantic  forms  of  tropical  life,  and  has  gazed  on  those 
mysterious  constellations  which  never  rise  upon  our 
northern  vision.     The  voyage  has  been  in  the  main 

10 


218  LIFE    OF    MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

prosperous  and  delightful — hope  urging  forward  the  one, 
hope  and  memory  the  other,  toward  their  destination. 
At  length  the  hills  that  line  the  eastern  coast  of  the  Bay 
of  Bengal  break  upon  their  view ;  then  the  pagoda  which 
crowns  the  promontory  of  Amherst  ;  then  the  hopia 
tree,  beneath  which  rest  the  ashes  of  the  first  Mrs.  Jud- 
son ;  and  amidst  the  strange  costumes  of  the  East,  and 
enthusiastic  welcomes  from  swarthy  faces,  they  come  to 
anchor,  on  the  30th  of  November,  in  the  harbor  of 
Amherst.  "We  leave  to  Mrs.  Judson  the  story  of  the 
voyage. 

TO    MISS    JANE    E.    KELLY. 

Off  Cape  Good  Hope,  Sept.  25, 1846. 

My  Dear  Jenny, — 

We  have  been  lying  by  for  the  last  three  days  under 
nearly  bare  poles,  a  strong  gale  dead  ahead,  and  we  all  the 
time  drifting  landward  "  willy-nilly."  There  is  a  deal  of  fun  in 
a  heavy  gale  like  this  during  the  first  day,  but  it  becomes  a 
rack  after  a  while.  Why,  all  my  joints  are  stretched  and 
my  bones  aching,  as  though  I  had  been  pulled  by  wild  horses 
and  cudgeled  to  a  jelly.  I  can  not  sleep  o'  nights  for  the  fear 
of  being  tossed  out  of  bed,  which  I  most  assuredly  should  be 
but  for  the  board  at  the  foreside  of  my  hunk.  But  the  gale  has 
at  length  subsided,  the  canvas  is  out,  and  we  are  stretching  off 
southward  with  rather  precipitate  haste,  considering  that  the 
bosom  of  the  sea  is  still  swelling  and  heaving  like  that  of  a  pas- 
sionate child  whose  anger  is  subsiding  into  involuntary  sobs. 
But  we  have  reason  for  haste.  This  morning  a  peculiar  tinge 
in  the  water,  warning  us  of  the  vicinity  of  land,  startled  the 
captain  somewhat,  as  he  had  not  been  able  to  "  take  his  obser- 
vations" during  the  gale  ;  and  he  soon  ascertained  that  we  were 
within  thirty  miles  of  the  latitude  of  the  Cape.  A  most  danger- 
ous proximity  I  learn  this  to  be,  and  we  are  now  putting  off  with 


OUTWARD    BOUND.  219 

the  utmost  speed.  This  gale  has  probably  been  the  grandest 
sight  that  we  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  beholding.  The  sea 
lashed  into  perfect  fury,  rising  and  sinking  in  strange  contor- 
tions, wresting  our  little  floating  nut-shell  from  the  hands  of  the 
crew,  to  leap,  and-  plunge,  and  wrestle,  as  though  born  of  the 
mad  billows  which  bellow  as  they  rise,  and,  bursting,  cover  it 
with  their  foam.  The  water  is  of  inky  blackness  in  the  hol- 
lows ;  but  €ach  billow,  as  it  bounds  upward,  becomes  green  and 
half  transparent,  and  bursts  at  the  summit,  the  long  wreaths  of 
foam  curling  over  and  over  each  other,  tumbling  to  the  bottom* 
and  disappearing  like  immense  piles  of  down,  with  which  your 
weary  bones  would  sympathize,  were  there  not  more  safety  in 
the  hard  mattress.  The  air  is  thick  with  spray,  at  first  tossed 
to  an  incredible  height,  and  then  every  foam-bead  shattered 
into  ten  thousand  fragments,  each  invisible  of  itself,  but  helping 
the  general  mistiness,  and  making  itself  felt  in  chilling  damp- 
ness through  cloak  and  shawl.  And  still  we  go  on  rearing  and 
plunging,  reeling  and  tumbling,  as  though  the  centre  of  gravity 
were  surely  lost,  and  our  frail  tea-saucer  capsizing  itself,  and 
then  pausing  on  the  top  of  a  billow,  quivering  in  every  spar 
before  venturing  another  plunge,  which  it  seems  must  be  fatal. 
Last  night  I  dreamt  that  I  could  see  the  centre  of  gravity,  in 
the  shape  of  a  huWs-eye^  slide  sideward  and  dip  to  the  water  at 
every  plunge,  each  time  approaching  within  a  hair's-breadth  of 
the  water-base  of  the  sjjip.  I  watched  every  plunge  with  trem- 
bling breathlessness — a  kind  of  night-mare  feeling — a  little 
more,  just  a  little  more,  and  we  were  lost  for  ever  !  At  length 
it  came.  I  bounded  from  my  berth,  staggered,  and  tumbled 
headlong,  grazing  my  shins  most  beautifully.  It  was  an  im- 
mense billow  bursting  over  the  quarter-deck  with  a  roar  like 
the  report  of  a  cannon — no  unusual  thing,  and  exceedingly 
lucky  just  then,  as  I  am  no  friend  to  the  night-mare. 

Now,  I  know  I  have  made  a  ridiculous  affair  of  my  fine 
gale,  and  you  can  have  no  idea  of  the  sublime  grandeur  of 
such  a  scene  at  sea.     Indeed  it  is  indescribable,  and  should  I 


220  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

attempt  a  formal  description,  I  should  inevitably  fail.  We 
lack  nothing  but  sunshine  to  make  it  glorious.  The  old  mon- 
arch of  the  upper  regions  has  muffled  his  face  in  clouds,  or 
even  now  the  swell  of  the  sea  might  give  our  fancies  fine  pick- 
ing. I  should  like  to  observe  the  effect  of  a  brilliant  sunlight 
upon  the  angry  face  of  brave  old  Neptune.  But  I  am  .tired, 
Jenny,  dear,  and  so  a  kiss,  and  more  chit-chat  on  a  stiller 
day.  % 

Nov.  14,  Lat.  5  N.,  Long.  93  E. 

I  find,  dear  Jane,  that  I  have  told  you  above  that  we  should 
scarce  be  likely  to  welcome  so  fine  a  gale  as  that  first  one  off 
the  Cape.  But  I  was  mistaken.  We  have  had  another,  which 
beat  it  all  out  and  out.  The  wind  blew  a  perfect  hurricane, 
but  it  was  astern,  and  so  swept  us  on  our  way  at  a  furious 
rate.  A  Dutch  bark  came  within  a  few  rods  of  us,  and  I  as- 
sure you  my  heart  went  pit-a-pat  when  I  saw  it  reeling  and 
tumbling,  though  I  was  told  that  it  went  on  quite  as  sedately  as 
we  did.  At  one  minute  it  seemed  leaping  to  the  clouds,  and 
at  the  next  not  even  the  top  of  a  mast  was  visible,  so  low  had 
it  sunk  behind  the  mountain  billows.  But  the  beauty  of  the 
scene  was  the  showers  of  rainbows,  for  the  sun  was  gloriously 
bright.  This  was  off  the  Cape,  where  we  may  always  expect 
gales ;  but  a  few  days  ago  we  had  a  succession  of  squalls, 
which  were  more  dangerous  than  a  continued  gale.  They 
come  on  without  a  moment's  warning ;  and  then  to  see  the 
tarpaulins  scramble,  racing  after  each  other  up  the  rigging  like 
so  many  rats,  and  shouting  a  chorus  something  in  the  tone  of 
a  bellowing  bull,  is,  as  Mark  Tapley  would  say,  "  reg'lar  fun." 
But  we  have  now  reached  the  simoom,  and  may  expect  to  see 
Maulmain  in  a  fortnight,  or  perhaps  ten  days.  To-day  we 
heard  the  chirp  of  a  land-bird,  probably  from  Sumatra,  and  the 
long,  brown  wreaths  of  sea-weed  go  drifting  past  us,  as  we 
have  not  seen  them  since  we  left  the  Bermudas.     It  is  eighteen 


OUTWARD   BOUND.  221 

weeks  to-day  since  we  left  Boston ;  so  imagine,  if  you  can,  liow 
tlie  vicinity  of  land  must  affect  us.     .     ... 

Last  night  we  had  a  supper  of  dolphins,  which,  but  for  their 
being  fried  in  rancid  lard,  would  have  been  delicious.  As  it 
was,  I  only  tasted  them.  In  truth  we  have  been  reduced  to 
pretty  scanty  fare,  and  I  shall  be  quite  willing  to  stick  my 
teeth  into  an  orange  when  we  get  ashore.  The  dolphin  is 
very  beautiful :  rich  brown  on  the  back,  and  blue,  and  green, 
and  gold,  shaded  into  each  other  along  the  side  to  the  belly, 
which  becomes  of  a  deep  salmon  hue,  then  pale  rose,  and  then 
white.  While  dying,  the  color  changes  in  rapid  flashes,  now 
deepening  into  almost  blackness,  and  now  the  white  extending 
to  the  streak  of  brown  upon  the  back.  One  of  those  caught 
yesterday  had  several  small  fish  in  its  stomach.  The  most 
curious  of  these  was  the  toad-fish,  about  the  size  and  shape  of 
a  full-grown  dace,  with  a  round  bag  on  the  under  side  three 
times  as  large  as  itself,  which  it  can  contract  and  expand  at 
pleasure.  A  flying-fish  was  also  taken  out,  and  another  crea- 
ture a  little  larger  than  a  silver  dollar,  and  very  nearly  as  flat 
and  round.  This  would  be  a  grand  place  for  a  naturalist  like 
you.  The  captain  has  promised  to  try  to  get  me  a  "  Portu- 
guese man  of  war,"  which,  if  I  can  preserve  in  spirits,  I  will 
send  you.  You  will  find  a  description  in  the  books,  but  you 
can  not  imagine  how  beautiful  it  is.  The  sail  is  of  ribbed 
silver,  fringed  with  pink  and  purple ;  the  body  seems  silver, 
and  then  the  long  strings  of*  purple  beads.  I  assure  you  he  is 
a  rare  little  fellow. 

My  letter  will  be  scarcely  readable,  but  they  say  I  must  use 
this  good-for-nothing  thin  paper.  Good  bye,  Jenny  dear  ;  God 
bless  you,  and  may  you  be  happy. 

Aff'ectionately, 

Emily  C-  Judson. 

The  following  iS  from  the  Columbian  Magazine,  Au- 
gust, 1847 : 


222  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 


OUTWARD       BOUND. 

And  so,  it  is  all  over !  The  hurry,  the  bustle,  the  thousand 
cares  attendant  on  departure  are  at  an  end,  and  the  unusual  ex- 
citement is  about  to  give  place  to  the  dull  monotony  of  a  long 
sea  voyage.  It  is  all  over,  and  here  we  stand,  a  lonely  little 
company,  looking  into  each  other's  face  in  something  like  be- 
wilderment, as  effectually  severed  from  friends  and  country  as 
though  those  kind  beings  had  a  moment  since  waited  at  our 
funerals.  The  last  sob  has  had  its  answering  sobbings ;  the  last 
farewell  has  trembled  upon  lips  that  I  had  fain  hoped  would 
breathe  it  above  my  death-couch ;  the  last  touch  of  the  loved 
hand,  the  last  glance  of  the  eye — ah  me,  it  is  well  that  life 
seldom  darkens  into  days  like  this. 

Still  do  I  see  those  dear,  dear  faces  thronging  the  wharf;  still 
my  eye  peers  eagerly  among  them  for  those  best  loved ;  those 
by  whose  side  I  have  stood  in  joy  and  sorrow,  whose  slightest 
whisper  long  since  forgotten  now  comes  back  flinging  upon  me 
the  weight  of  a  new  heart-ache ;  those  who  bent  fondly  above 
me  when  my  cheek  paled  and  my  eye  grew  dim,  and,  winning 
me  back  from  the  grave,  rejoiced  to  see  my  foot  once  more  firm. 
O  but  for  one  more  last  word  with  these !  As  my  eye  wanders 
in  search  of  the  friends  of  other  days,  it  falls  upon  those  of  later 
date,  but  still  beloved  as  truly  if  not  as  tenderly.  Again  and 
again  the  vision  rises  to  my  confused  sense  and  passes  and  re- 
passes before  my  eye,  face  after  face  bearing  familiar  features 
standing  out  from  the  mass  with  the  distinctness  of  reality. 
Again  handkerchiefs  are  waved  in  thrice  repeated  adieu,  and 
kisses  are  flung  from  fingers  that  have  often,  O  so  often  twined 
with  mine,  but  which  I  may  never,  never  clasp  again.  Then 
come  like  a  death  signal  the  shrill  cry  of  the  boatswain,  the 
quick  rattling  of  ropes,  and  slowly  we  wheel  away,  striving  for 
yet  one  more  glance  and  yet  one  more,  til^  wharf  and  carriage, 
new  friends  and  old,  are  left  behind  together. 


OUTWARD    BOUND.  223 

And  this  close,  narrow  cabin,  with  its  small  window  and  low 
ceiling,  is  to  be  my  home,  not  merely  for  days  and  weeks,  bat 
for  long,  weary  months,  without  the  possibility  of  change.  Not 
one  spot  of  green  earth  to  set  my  foot  upon,  not  a  forest  leaf  to 
soothe  my  ear  with  the  familiar  sound  of  its  rustlings,  but  a  few 
planks  for  my  promenade,  and  this  incessant  dashing,  dashing, 
for  daily  and  nightly  music.  I,  who  have  never  loved  glittering 
spires  and  proud  monuments,  still  strain  my  eyes  for  a  last  look 
at  the  tall  shaft  of  granite  rising  from  yonder  battle  hill  and  now 
but  a  shadowy  line  against  the  sky,  turning  them  away  only  to 
look  upon  the  burnished  dome  of  the  State  House,  made  visible 
by  its  glitter  in  the  dim  distance.  Now  both  are  lost,  and  I  have 
looked  my  last  upon  the  land  of  the  robin  and  the  violet,  the 
land  of  kind  hearts  and  free  hands,  the  land  of  Sabbath  bells 
and  prayerful  voices — my  bright,  my  beautiful,  my  own  beloved 
land.  There,  even  the  wild  flower  shooting  from  the  split  rock 
in  the  neglected  forest,  and  the  humble  wild  bird  nestling  in  the 
green  knoll  by  the  wayside,  are  dearer  to  me  than  all  the  gold 
of  the  South  or  the  treasures  of  Eastern  India.  I  was  cradled 
amid  its  rugged  simplicity,  lulled  to  my  earliest  slumber  by  the 
music  of  its  rills,  and  fanned  in  my  hours  of  play  by  the  green 
boughs  ever  waving  in  its  fair  forests.  Its  mossy  knolls  have 
been  my  altars,  its  groves  my  temples,  and  its  birds,  and  flowers, 
and  pebbles,  the  beautiful  books  in  which,  side  by  side  with  the 
pages  of  inspiration,  I  have  studied  the  character  of  Him  who 
placed  both  them  and  me  in  this  strange  lovely  world.  It  was 
the  home  of  my  infancy,  the  home  of  my  childhood,  the  home 
of  my  youth,  and  thrice  ten  thousand  times  the  home  of  my 
heart.  "  If  there  were  no  other  world,"  0  who  would  thus  turn 
to  voluntary  exile  ?  Father  in  heaven,  fling  Thy  sunlight  upon 
our  trackless  way,  else  are  we  indeed  in  darkness. 

Hurra,  hurra,  how  gayly  we  ride  !  How  the  ship  careers  ! 
How  she  leaps !  How  gracefully  she  bends !  How  fair  her 
white  wings  !     How  trim  her  hull !     How  slim  her  tall  taper 


224  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

masts  !  What  a  beautiful  dancing  fairy !  Up  from  my  narrow 
shelf  in  the  close  cabin  have  I  crept  for  the  first  time  since  we 
loosed  cable  and  swung  out  upon  the  tide,  and  every  drop  of 
blood  in  my  veins  jostles  its  neighbor  drop  exultingly,  for  here 
is  sublimity  unrivaled.  The  wild,  shifting,  restless  sea,  with  its 
playful  waves  chasing  one  another  laughingly,  ever  and  anon 
leaping  up,  shivering  themselves  by  the  force  of  their  own  mad 
impulse,  and  descending  again  in  a  shower  of  pearls ;  the  soft 
azure  curvature  of  the  sky  shutting  down  upon  its  outer  rim  as 
though  we  were  fairly  caged  between  blue  and  blue ;  and  the 
ship,  the  gallant  ship,  plowing  her  own  path  in  the  midst,  bear- 
ing human  souls  upon  her  tremulous  breast,  with  her  white  wings 
high  in  air  and  her  feet  in  the  grave.  And  then  the  tumult,  the 
creaking  of  cordage,  the  dash  of  waters  and  the  howling  of 
winds — "  the  wind  and  the  sea  roaring !"  I  have  felt  my  heart 
swell  and  my  blood  tingle  in  my  veins  when  I  stood  in  the 
silent  forests  of  Alderbrook,  and  I  have  looked  up  at  the  solemn 
old  trees  in  awe  mingled  with  strange  delight ;  the  awe  and  de- 
light have  both  deepened  at  the  blaze  of  the  lightning  and  bel- 
lowing of  the  thunder  amid  the  wild  echoing  rocks  of  Astonroga ; 
and  now,  in  this  strange  uproar,  they  come  upon  my  heart  and 
make  it  bound  like  the  arrow  from  the  bended  bow.  The  trees 
were  the  temples  built  by  the  Almighty  for  His  worship,  and 
there  is  something  awfully  beautiful  in  their  shadows  ;  the  light- 
nings "  go  and  say  unto  Him,  here  we  are !"  and  "  He  shut  up 
the  sea  with  doors  and  made  the  cloud  the  garment  thereof,  and 
thick  darkness  the  swaddling  band  for  it."  And  here  as  I  stand 
poised  upon  the  wild  elements  I  feel  myself  near,  very  near  to 
the  only  Protector  who  has  a  hand  to  save,  and  in  the  hollow 
of  that  all-powerful  hand  I  rest  in  perfect  security.  God,  my 
God,  I  go  forth  at  Thy  bidding,  and,  in  the  words  of  Thine  own 
inspired  poet,  "Thou  art  my  buckler,  the  horn  of  my  salvation, 
and  my  high  tower."  The  sea  can  not  separate  Thee  from  me, 
the  darkness  of  midnight  can  not  hide  Thy  face,  nor  can  the 


OUTWARD  BOUND.  225 

raging  of  the  storm  drown  Thy  still  small  voice.     My  heart 
leaps  joyfully  as  I  trust  in  Thee. 

On,  brave  little  wrestler  with  the  elements  !  On,  right  gal- 
lantly !  I  love  the  bounding,  the  dashing,  and  the  roaring,  and 
my  heart  shall  know  no  faltering  while  "  my  Father  is  at  the 
helm." 

Hurra,  hurra !  Here  we  are  upon  a  sea  of  fire !  How 
the  waves  leap  and  sparkle,  while,  curling  backward  from  their 
tops  down  their  black  sides,  roll  long  wreaths  of  flame !  The 
stars  are  quenched,  and  the  heavy  clouds  go  hurrying  by  in 
dismay  as  though  they  feared  the  fearful  mandate  had  gone 
forth,  the  taper  been  lighted,  and  the  hour  was  at  hand  when 
the  "  heavens  should  be  rolled  together  as  a  scroll."  The  scene 
is  wildly,  startlingly  beautiful.  Those  who  look  into  such  mys- 
teries say  that  the  fiery  sea  below  us  owes  all  its  brilliancy  to  a 
small  insect  fioating  upon  the  surface  of  the  wave.  In  these 
strange  regions  I  can  almost  fancy  them  the  torch-bearers  of  the 
mighty  sea  king.  If  we  are  to  credit  the  gentlemen  of  the 
tarpaulin  and  pea-jacket,  there  is  a  coral  palace  just  below  us 
now,  where  his  majesty  of  the  trident  holds  his  imperial  court, 
but  I  have  a  suspicion  that  the  deep  might  lay  open  to  us  greater 
wonders  than  ever  glittered  in  ancient  mythology  or  modern 
poetry.  There  is  many  a  brave  ship  suspended  fathoms  deep, 
still  floating,  floating,  floating,  with  the  blue  waves  for  sail  and 
pennon,  and  rich  treasures  mouldering  and  rusting  in  he  rbosom. 
There  secrets,  which  have  made  thrones  tremble,  and  crowns 
bow,  lie  forever  hid  from  the  eyes  of  mankind.  There  knowl- 
edge slumbers  with  sealed  eye ;  there  wisdom  folds  her  powerful 
pinion  and  forgets  how  she  moved  a  world ;  there  the  star  of 
beauty  has  set  in  utter  darkness ;  there  the  tuneful  finger  of 
love  thrills  never  more  the  palsied  heart  strings;  and  there 
goodness  and  purity,  in  their  white  vestments,  wait  the  signal 
to  mount  to  heaven.  Greater  wonders !  Why,  this  same  deep 
upon  whose  glittering  breast  we  are  now  floating  will  at  some 

10* 


226  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

future  day  fling  back  her  locked  portals,  unfold  her  curtaining 
waves,  while  from  her  blue  caverns  will  spring,  strong  in  life 
and  radiant  in  beauty,  all  whose  hearts  have  said,  "  Thy  will  be 
done,"  when  lying  down  to  their  strange  rest.  No  monarch  of 
mystic  realms  has  reared  his  throne  of  "turkois  and  almondine" 
in  those  purple  twilights,  there  treading  pearl-strewed  floors, 
listening  to  notes  breathed  from  the  crimson  lips  of  silver  shells, 
or  winded  on  the  pearly  horns  of  water  nymphs,  and  reclining 
within  the  bower  formed  by  the  branching  jasper.  No  merry 
mermaid  looses  the  golden  fountain  of  her  own  enshrouding 
tresses,  and  bends  her  bright  face  to  the  mirroring  wave ;  no 
fabulous  naiad  of  the  olden  story  laves  her  rosy  limbs  in  the 
rainbow  tide ;  and  no  pale  Undine  comes  in  shape  of  mortal 
maiden,  to  weep  beneath  the  green  bough  in  the  starlight,  or 
walk  forth  in  gay  vestments  at  noonday,  with  nodding  plume 
and  well-filled  quiver,  to  lure  the  unwary  to  her  cold,  damp 
palaces.  But  greater  than  these  lie  beneath  us,  those  who  shall 
wear  crowns  beneath  the  stars — tread  among  the  varying  lights 
which,  in  the  god-lighted  atmosphere  of  the  Eternal,  flash  from 
the  sapphire,  the  emerald  and  jasper,  the  soft  green  chryso- 
phrase,  the  blood-red  hyacinth,  and  the  purple  amethyst,  listen 
to  the  lays  of  angels,  and  recline  on  couches  of  transparent  gold 
in  the  shadow  of  that  tree  whose  "  leaves  are  for  the  healing  of 
the  nations ;"  who  shall  plunge  into  all  the  wise  mysteries  of 
the  universe,  and  dwell  forever  in  the  presence  of  Him  whom 
no  man  can  now  see  and  live.  Ah,  there  are  richer  treasures 
beneath  us  than  ever  found  life  in  Grecian  song  or  fable,  or 
stirred  the  fingers  of  troubadours  and  minnesingers — the  caskets 
which  have  held  the  precious  purchase  of  the  Son  of  God,  and 
which  shall  be  restored  in  glorified  beauty  when  He  takes  them 
to  the  mansions  which  He  is  now  preparing. 

We  are  just  "  crossing  the  line  " — that  great  brass  rim  which 

on    Mr.  B -'s   globe    used   to  "  divide  the  earth  into  two 

parts  called  the  Northern  and  Southern  hemispheres."  "We 
mount  the  metallic  ridge  without  any  perceptible  decrease  of 


OUTWARD    BOUND.  227 

motion,  and  oiF  we  bound  away,  away !  stretching  southward 
into  another  world.  Ha !  How  the  wind  blows !  How  the 
canvas  swells !     How  the  waves  dash ! 

Hurra!  Gallantly  ride  we  in  this  skeleton  ship,  while  the 
sunlight  glints  gayly  on  white  bare  mast  and  slender  spar.  Gal- 
lantly ride  we  over  wave  and  hollow,  over  foam  and  rainbow ; 
now  perched  upon  the  white  ridge,  poising  doubtfully  and  trem- 
bling like  a  frighted  steed  ;  now  plunging  down,  down  into  the 
measureless  trough  which  seems  yawning  to  engulph  us  forever. 
Wildly  blows  the  gale,  more  and  more  wildly  bound  the  mighty 
billows,  with  a  roaring  as  though  all  the  monsters  of  the  deep 
were  swarming  around  us.  But  not  so.  Neither  the  wide 
mouth  of  the  shark,  the  brown  back  of  the  porpoise,  nor  the 
spouting  nostril  of  the  whale  is  visible ;  the  brilliant  dolphin  in 
in  his  opal  jacket  has  retreated  to  his  own  haunts  below  the 
storm,  and  the  little  "  Portuguese  man-of-war "  has  drawn  in 
the  pink  and  purple  fringes  of  his  silver  sail,  and  rolls  like  a 
cunning  beetle  from  wave  to  wave,  as  light  as  the  bubble  from 
which  he  can  not  be  distinguished.  Even  the  albatross  flapped 
his  strong  pinion  and  wheeled  away  when  he  saw  the  winds 
gathering  dark  in  the  heavens  ;  the  cape  pigeon  lingered  a  lit- 
tle as  though  caring  lightly  for  the  ruffling  of  his  mottled  plum- 
age, and  then  spread  his  butterfly-embroidered  wings  and  hur- 
ried after ;  but  the  stormy  petrel,  though  small  and  delicate  as 
the  timid  wren  (I  will  take  a  lesson  from  thee,  busy  daring 
little  spirit  that  thou  art,  bright  velvet- winged  petrel),  scorns  to 
seek  safety  but  by  breasting  the  gale.  And  here  he  remains, 
carousing  amid  the  foam  as  though  those  liquid  pearls,  leaping 
high  in  air  and  scattering  themselves  upon  the  wind,  had  a 
magic  in  them  to  shield  him  from  danger.  He  dips  his  wing 
in  the  angry  tide  as  daintily  as  though  it  were  stirred  but  in 
silver  ripples ;  then  he  darts  upward,  and  then  plunges  and.  is 
lost  in  the  enshrouding  foam.  But  no,  he  is  again  in  air,  whirl- 
ing and  balancing,  wheeling  and  careering,  up  and  down  as 


228  LIFE   OP  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

thougli  stark  mad  with  joyousness,  and  now  lie  vaults  upon  the 
back  of  the  nearest  foam  bank  and  disappears  to  rise  again  as 
before.  And  still  the  billows  roar  and  bound  and  lash  the  sides 
of  the  trembling  ship,  and  sweep  with  straoge  force  her  decks ; 
and  still  we  reel  and  plunge,  down,  down,  surely.  No,  we  are 
up  again,  leaping  skyward ;  we  pause  a  moment  and^what  a 
fearful  pitch  was  that !  Ah,  my  brain  grows  giddy,  but  still  I 
can  not  hide  myself  in  my  dark  cabin. 

And  now  careering  and  caracoling  yonder,  like  an  untamed 
steed  that  has  freed  himself  from  the  trappings  of  civilization, 
comes  a  bark  with  sails  close  reefed  like  our  own,  and  some- 
thing that  appears  like  the  stripes  of  Holland  flying  at  her  stern. 
Ride  we  a  race — the  skeleton  ship  and  bark — that  we  travel 
the  waves  so  madly?  Are  these  two  immense  ribbed  things 
that  seem  to  revel  in  the  storm  really  of  this  upper  earth,  or  are 
they  dark  spirit-creatures  that  come  to  us  from  a  phantom  world 
below  ?  As  the  bark  leaps  from  billow  to  billow  I  can  almost 
fancy  that  I  hear  the  voice  of  some  poor  Matthew  Lee  from  her 
foam-shrouded  deck — 

"  Tou  know  the  spirit  horse  I  ride ; 
He'll  let  me  on  the  sea  with  none  beside  1" 

I  have  heard  of  a  "  flying  Dutchman "  off  this  rude  coast, 
and  I  should  well  nigh  believe  that  the  mystic  churl  had  drawn 
near  to  spy  out  our  belongings,  but  that  our  own  sober  Bos- 
tonian  "cradle  of  liberty"  is  every  whit  as  full  of  antics.  But 
look,  look!  How  our  suspicious  neighbor  reels,  dipping  up 
whole  decks  full  of  surf;  see  her  spring  from  the  white  yeast 
and  leap  to  the  clouds  ;  and  now,  as  I  live,  not  the  tip  of  a  mast 
is  to  be  seen,  and  she  but  a  brace  or  two  of  rods  distant !  Still 
shines  the  sun  and  still  the  wind  comes  roaring  from  the  clouds 
and  howls  among  the  rigging  with  a  dismal  tone,  strangely  con- 
trasting with  the  glorious  brilliance  of  the  light.  A  thick  white 
mist  scattered  from  rich  heavy  foam-wreaths  spreads  itself  over 
the  face  of  the  waters  and  becomes  at  once  an  iris  curtain.    Up 


OUTWAED   BOUND.  229 

curls  the  mist  from  every  shivered  billow — up,  curl  on  curl,  it 
winds  in  silvery  beauty,  and  meeting  the  sun,  falls  back  in 
gorgeous  showers  of  million-colored  rainbows.  Beautiful,  glo- 
riously beautiful !     The  sea,  even  as  "  the  earth,  is  full  of  thy 


Onward  we  trip  buoyantly  and  blithely.  Up  from  the  chill- 
ing south  come  we  to  regions  of  perpetual  warmth  and  sun- 
shine. Up,  hurrying  on  like  the  lithe  roe-buck  among  his 
native  hills,  bounding  and  dancing,  oh,  so  gayly !  and  here  we 
are  where  sleep  in  purple  mist  the  fair  islands  of  Eastern  India. 
Blithely,  still  blithely  speed  we  onward,  and  still  'softer  grow 
the  breezes,  while  the  light  gushes  warm  and  golden  from  the 
fleecy  clouds,  and  far  away  by  the  verge  of  the  horizon  a  slum- 
brous vail  like  silver  gossamer  is  settling  down  on  sky  and  wave. 
A  piece  of  half-molten  gold  seems  to  have  grazed  the  luxuriously 
sleepy  blue  from  the  south  around  to  the  west,  leaving  every- 
where its  traces  rich  and  glowing,  but  with  none  of  the  harsh 
glare  which  is  common  to  sterner  skies.  As  it  reaches  the 
west  it  is  entirely  melted  and  circles  around  the  setting  sun,  a 
girdle  of  glory  but  still  subdued  into  a  soothing  softness.  This 
is  a  rare  East  Indian  scene,  such  as  can  not  be  copied  where 
frosts  have  made  the  sun  pale  and  set  the  clouds  in  a  shiver. 
And  now  the  sun  nears  the  water,  dips  his  lower  disk  in  the 
tide,  and  drops  down  behind  it  with  but  little  of  the  ceremony 
that  marks  his  exit  on  land.  And  now  for  other  beauties,  since" 
the  store-house  of  creation  is  exhaustless.  But  look  upon  the 
surface  of  the  water !  One  half  is  of  a  pale  flickering  orange, 
while  the  other  displays  fold  on  fold  of  crimson,  lost  in  the 
blackness  of  approaching  night;  and  far  behind  us  we  are  drag- 
ging in  the  wake  of  the  ship  long  lines  of  green  and  amber  and 
purple,  each  rarer  than  ever  robed  a  Tyrian  princess.  A  still 
dimmer  haze,  though  all  of  a  dark  rich  purple,  creeps  over  the 
face  of  the  sea  as  twilight  deepens,  and  one  by  one  the  stars 
open  their  bright  eyes  on  the  misty  scene  below.     Sweet,  mild 


230  LIFE    OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

Maia  Placidus,  brilliant  Canopus,and  half  of  the  southern  cross 
are  left  behind ;  but  we  greet  night-watchers  better  loved  to- 
night, for  lo,  yonder,  gleaming  from  its  gray  curtains,  the  polar 
star ! 

The  polar  star,  ever  the  same  in  its  unpretending,  unobtru- 
sive loneliness,  has  been  made  an  emblem  of  faith  and  trust,  a 
way-mark,  a  balancing  point,  and  we  feel  lost  when  we  look  to 
the  place  it  has  occupied  in  the  heavens  and  find  it  vacant.  A 
welcome  back,  thou  pale-eyed  northern  queen,  lone  pearl  of 
the  earth-arching  heavens ;  and  a  blithe  welcome  too  to  thee, 
old  shaggy  monarch  of  the  icy  regions,  ever  unmoved  even  by 
the  sight  of  the  huntsmen  upon  thy  track  with  their  hounds  in 
the  leash,  ready  to  rend  thy  tough  hide  at  the  slightest  signal. 
And  there  shines  the  noble  Arcturus,  he  of  whom  the  son  of 
Amram  sang  from  the  plains  of  Midia  after  he  had  cast  aside 
the  princely  purple  of  Egypt ;  asking  in  the  name  of  his  God, 
the  great  mechanist  of  the  stars,  "  canst  thou  bind  the  sweet 
influences  of  the  Pleiades  or  loose  the  bands  of  Orion  ?  Canst 
thou  bring  forth  Mazzaroth  in  his  season  ?  or  canst  thou  guide 
Arcturus  with  his  sons?"  How  long  has  that  silver  lamp 
been  shining  up  in  heaven  ?  and  who  are  the  beings  that  bask 
in  its  light  ?  Angels,  creatures  bearing  the  form  of  man,  or 
those  framed  to  exhibit  the  versatility  of  the  Contriver's  power, 
whose  very  mode  of  existence  is  utterly  inconceivable  ?  Has  it 
ever  fallen  under  the  ban  of  sin  ?  Can  sorrow  and  death  visit 
it  ?  Probably  before  our  little  earth  or  even  our  fair  solar  sys- 
tem sprang  from  the  moulding  hand  of  the  Architect — it  may 
be  myriads  on  myriads  of  ages  before  "  the  stars  sang  together  " 
at  sight  of  the  beautiful  new  creation — Arcturus  moved  in  the 
midst  of  his  sons,  chaining  them  within  their  orbits  by  a  subtle 
resistless  power,  and  receiving  from  them  the  reflected  light  of 
his  own  smiles.  The  same  large,  mild  eye,  hundreds  of  centu- 
ries ago,  looked  down  upon  the  sublime  historian,  the  poet- 
chieftain  of  Israel,  in  his  desert  wanderings  with  his  murmuring 
people ;  and  the  shepherds  upon  the  star-lit  plains  of  Chaldea 


OUTWARD   BOUND.  231 

gazed  upon  the  beacon  and  braided  with  its  rays  strange  mys- 
teries. And  yet  that  very  orb,  that  proud,  regal  Arcturus,  with 
his  full  unflickering  blaze,  may  at  this  very  moment  be  among 
the  things  which  were  and  are  not.  The  taper,  whose  rays  may 
have  been  myriads  of  centuries  traveling  to  us,  could  easily  have 
been  extinguished  before  the  fires  of  our  own  system  were  light- 
ed, and  yet  we  stand  wondering  at  the  semblance.  Ah,  well, 
noble  star !  whether  thou  art  or  art  not,  I  greet  thy  fair  seem- 
ing right  joyfully,  for  the  light  of  other  days  is  upon  thee.  The 
loved  ones  whose  feet  are  now  pointing  to  ours,  with  the  diameter 
of  the  globe  between,  may  look  upon  thy  face  even  as  we  look. 
And  yonder  is  our  own  magnificent  Jupiter,  his  large  eye 
fully  opened,  and  there  is  the  northern  crown,  and  there  the 
heart  of  the  royal  Charles,  and  there  bright  Cassiopeia,  and  still 
beyond,  the  tiny  sparklers  forming  the  pale  tresses  of  Berenice, 
and  there — and  there — and  there — why  they  are  old  friends, 
every  one.     I  am  home  again. 

Land  ho,  land!  A  succession  of  dark  rich  purple  fes- 
toons are  turning  their  convex  side  to  the  sky  in  the  far  dis- 
tance, telling  us  that  not  more  thSn  twenty-five  miles  lie  between 
us  and  the  southernmost  islands  of  the  Nicobar  chain.  And 
that  is  really  land !  Happy  as  we  have  been  in  our  little  float- 
ing bird's-nest,  my  foot  aches  to  press  it. 

Land  ho,  land  !  Another  purple  island,  regal  in  the  morning 
light.  It  sits  like  a  pyramid  upon  the  water,  and  tapers  until 
its  soft,  shadowy  outline  is  nearly  lost  in  the  clouds.  I^earer 
and  nearer  we  come,  and  several  peaks  are  now  visible,  covered 
with  something  which  seems  like  foliage,  while  bald  gray  cliffs, 
streaked  with  chalky  lines,  descend  perpendicularly  to  the  Water. 
On  we  go,  and  the  rocky  sugar  loaf  of  Narconidam  fades  in  the 
dim  distance. 

Land  at  last — the  strange  land  that  for  us  bears  the  fond 


232  LIFE   OF  MES.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

name  of  home.  In  a  long  chain,  made  up  of  irregular  links, 
which  it  seems  that  a  breath  might  dissever,  stretches  from  the 
south  far  up  to  the  head  of  the  bay  the  shore  of  Burmah. 
The  faint  wind  dallies  about  the  deck,  and  creeps  over  brow 
and  cheek  with  a  soft,  soothing  deliciousness,  but  there  is  only 
a  breath  of  it  stirring,  and  that  is  "  dead  ahead."  We  have 
been  beating  landward  with  but  little  success  during  the  past 
week,  but  patience !  the  goal  is  now  in  sight,  and  it  matters 
little  whether  we  reach  it  to-day  or  to-morrow,  or  the  day  after. 
Surely  we  will  not  murmur  at  a  day  more  or  less  tacked  to  the 
end  of  a  twenty  weeks'  voyage.  Thank  God,  that  He  has  spread 
the  land  before  our  eyes  at  last ;  that  He  has  shielded  us  jvhen 
wrath  was  stirring  in  the  heavens  and  darkness  was  upon  the 
waters ;  that  He  has  pinioned  the  wings  of  the  wind,  and  said 
to  the  waves,  "  thus  far  shalt  thou  go,  and  no  farther." 

Last  night  a  poor,  tired  little  land-bird,  with  a  head  like  a 
blue  violet  in  the  spring-time,  and  a  neck  slender  and  most 
gracefully  arched,  entered  at  the  window  of  the  saloon,  and 
nestled  down  on  the  cushions  of  the  transom  with  the  fond 
confidence  of  our  own  tuneful  robin.  It  was  a  sweet  harbinger, 
and  most  joyfully  welcomed."  Before  the  unsuspecting  little 
sleeper  opened  its  eyes  this  morning,  it  was  seized  and  caged 
under  a  morah,  where  it  still  flutters,  displaying  through  the 
bamboo  bars  its  chameleon  plumage  in  all  the  changeable  shades 
which  it  has  stolen  from  a  tropical  sun.  It  needs  not  the  olive 
leaf  to  be  a  dove  to  us — the  beautiful  little  stranger  ! 

On — on — on — slowly — very  slowly ;  but  the  land  gradually 
becomes  more  distinct ;  the  purple  hue  of  the  hills  is  changing 
to  emerald ;  masses  of  trees  appear  like  small  clumps  of  shrub- 
bery ;  the  glass  discovers  to  us  the  tiny  sails  of  fishermen  close  in 
sKore,  and  hark !  the  cry,  "  Amherst !"  Ay,  yonder  point  of 
land,  with  the  badge  of  its  degradation  on  its  front,  is  Amherst, 
our  first  anchoring  place.  Nearer  and  nearer,  tree  by  tree 
becomes  visible  as  it  appears  in  relief  against  the  sky — the 
palm,  the  cocoa,  and  the  tamarind ;  and,  lo !  on  that  green  bank 


OUTWARD   BOUND.  233 

sloping  to  the  water,  tlie  hopia  shading  the  ashes  of  the  sainted. 
From  the  highest  point  rises  the  taper  spire  of  a  pagoda,  and 
another  is  built  on  the  rocky  promontory  that  stretches  into 
the  bay.  It  must  be  a  land  of  beauty — even  at  this  distance 
we  can  but  feel  sure  of  that — but  how  dark !  how  dark !  The 
Burman  is  not  like 

"  The  poor  Indian  whose  untutored  mind 
Sees  God  in  clouds  and  hears  Him  in  the  wind." 

He  has  no  God,  not  even  the  Great  Spirit  of  the  Indian's  hunt- 
ing ground,  nor  the  frail  deities  of  ancient  mythology.  The 
object  of  his  worship  is  a  man  whose  ashes  are  scattered  to  the 
four  winds  of  heaven,  and  whose  soul  has  been  for  thousands 
of  years  extinct.  His  system  is  one  of  cause  and  effect,  and  he 
believes  that  ages  of  suffering  in  the  lowest  hell  will  be  the 
unavoidable  effect  of  the  sins  he  is  daily  committing,  while  his 
good  deeds  are  only  an  offset  to  the  evil.  His  future  life  is  a 
long  transmigratory  round  of  toil  and  suffering  ;  and  the  most 
glowing  of  his  hopes,  the  acme  of  his  promised  bliss,  is  anni- 
hilailion.  And  it  is  not  merely  one  small  nation  that  is  hugging 
such  misery — groveling  in  this  terrible  darkness ;  Buddhism  in 
its  various  modifications  is  the  religion  of  more  than  a  third  of 
the  population  of  the  world.  To  kindle  the  fire  which  shall 
illuminate  such  a  people,  though  it  be  at  first  but  the  faint,  fitful 
glimmer  of  a  rush-light,  how  glorious !  To  plant  the  seed  of 
one  pure  principle  in  natures  so  degraded,  to  place  one  bud  of 
hope  in  the  core  of  such  misery,  and  watch  its  beautiful  and 
beautifying  expansion,  to  hold  in  hand  the  lever  which  after 
hundreds  of  years  shall  elevate  a  mighty  nation,  as  the  barba- 
rians of  the  British  Isles  have  been  elevated  by  that  same  instru- 
ment, has  a  glory  in  it  which  no  truly  wise  man  would  barter 
for  the  sceptre  of  an  Alexander.  Good  can  be  done  every 
where,  and  nothing  is  truer  than  that  "  missionaries  are  needed 
at  home  ;"  yet  if  I  have  but  one  morsel  of  bread,  let  me  give  il 
to  the  famishing ;  if  I  have  a  single  flower,  let  me  take  it  to  the 


234  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

cell  of  the  dying  prisoner,  on  whose  cheek  the  free  air  never 
plays,  and  who  knows  nothing  of  the  pleasant  sights  and  smells 
in  which  others  are  revelling. 

We  have  approached  as  near  the  shore  as  safety  will  permit, 
and  already  the  white  sail  of  a  pilot-boat  is  gliding  across  the 
water  to  meet  us.  It  is  preceded,  however,  by  a  boat-load  of 
natives,  with  their  broad  muscular  shoulders  bared,  and  their 
gay  patsoes  spread  over  their  heads,  to  protect  them  from  the 
broiling  sun.  They  bring  fresh  offerings  of  fruit,  fish,  and  milk, 
for  there  is  one  of  our  number  that  is  no  stranger  to  them. 
What  glad  faces  they  bear!  And  how  delicious  the  fruit 
tastes!  Adieu  to  salt  fish  and  sea  biscuit.  Ha!  how  every 
thing  smells  of  land! 

These  men  seem  almost  beautiful,  coming  from  among  the 
green  trees,  and  certainly  such  an  orange  as  this  never  grew 
before — never.     For  the  land,  for  the  land — away  ! 

Ship  Faneuil  Hall,  1846. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    OEIEN  T. 

"  Or  to  burst  all  links  of  habit — there  to  wander  far  away, 
On  from  island  unto  island  at  the  gateways  of  the  day ; 
Larger  constellations  burning,  mellow  moons  and  happy  skies, 
Breadths  of  tropic  shade  and  palms  in  cluster,  knots  of  Paradise. 
Never  comes  the  trader,  never  fioats  an  European  flag ; 
Slides  the  bird  o'er  lustrous  woodland,  droops  the  trailer  from  the  crag ; 
Droops  the  heavy-blossomed  bower,  hangs  the  heavy-fruited  tree. 
Summer  isles  of  Eden  lying  in  dark  purple  spheres  of  sea." 


tio^Res 


East — that  East  which  to  the  occidental  imagina- 


Under  the  opening  eye-lids  of  the  morn, 


and  is  bathed  in  the  rosiest  light  of  the  yet  youthful  day ; 
that  gorgeous  East  which 

With  richest  hand 
Showers  on  her  kings  barbaric  pearls  and  gold ;. 

that  romantic  East,  which  had  haunted  Mrs.  Judson's 
youthful  imagination,  has  now  greeted  her  vision,  and 
become  her  home.  Interesting,  however,  as  may  be  the 
strange  forms  of  oriental  life  to  a  European,  and  espe- 
cially to  one  of  her  poetical  temperament,  it  will  require 
but  a  brief  glance  to  disenchant  her  fancy,  and  disclose 


236  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

the  intrinsic  poverty  veiled  by  its  glittering  and  pictur- 
esque exterior. 

Amherst,  at  which  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Judson  first  landed, 
lying  at  the  mouth  of  the  Salwen  river,  one  of  the  large 
streams  which  pour  down  from  the  north  into  the  east- 
ern side  of  the  Bay  of  Bengal,  was  hallowed  to  Dr.  Jud- 
son's  mind  by  some  peculiar  associations.  He  had  aided 
Mr.  Crawfurd,  the  British  commissioner  of  the  Grovernor- 
General  of  India,  in  selecting  it  as  the  site  of  the  capi- 
tal of  the  provinces  ceded  by  Burmah  to  England,  after 
the  war  of  1826.  The  ceremony  of  founding  the  new 
town  (named  from  the  Governor- Greneral)  had  been  ac- 
companied by  a  prayer  from  Dr.  Judson  so  appropriately 
eloquent  as  to  receive  a  special  notice  in  Mr.  Crawfurd's 
published  journal.  Dr.  Judson  assisted  at  the  inaugu- 
ration with  views  of  far  wider  scope,  doubtless,  than 
those  of  the  official  actors  in  the  scene.  He  looked 
upon  the  place  as  the  prospective  seat  not  merely  of  a 
political  and  military  dominion,  but  of  a  spiritu^jKn- 
pire,  which  should  rise  on  the  ruins  of  idolatry,  ^^ith 
this  hope  he  had  brought  hither  Mrs.  Judson,  and  was 
commencing  his  labors  when  he  was  persuaded  by  the 
British  commissioner,  with  the  concurrent  advice  of  his 
wife,  to  accompany  him  as  interpreter  in  a  mission  to 
Ava,  in  the  hope  of  securing,  along  with  the  commercial 
treaty,  religious  toleration  in  Burmah.  The  hope  was 
disappointed  ;  the  stay  of  the  emb^sy  at  Ava  was  vexa- 
tiously  protracted  by  Burman  faithlessness  and  stupid- 
ity ;  and  to  crown  his  distress,  while  he  was  wasting  his 
time  in  a  distasteful  and  fruitless  negotiation,  his  wife 
sickened  and  died  in  loneliness,  and  her  sorrowing  hus- 
band came  back  not  to  her  bosom,  but  to  her  grave. 

His  hopes  regarding  Amherst  were  also  doomed  to  dis- 


THE   OKIENT.  237 

appointment.  The  British  commander  had  meantime 
fixed  his  cantonments  about  twenty-five  miles  up  the 
Salwen,  at  Maulamyang,  or  Maulmain,  and  this  deter- 
mined the  place  of  the  capital  against  the  official  desig- 
nation, and  the  more  favorable  locality  of  the  sea-port. 
The  Salwen  was  the  dividing  line  between  the  Burman 
and  the  newly-acquired  British  territory,  and  Maulmain, 
picturesquely  situated  on  its  eastern  side,  naturally  at- 
tracted the  missionaries,  and  promised  to  realize  what 
Dr.  Judson  had  anticipated  for  Amherst.  Here  they 
gradually  assembled,  enjoying  under  the  British  flag 
entire  freedom  for  their  work,  while  the  mixed  pop- 
ulation of  the  town,  embracing  Burmans,  Chinese, 
Mohammedans,  Armenians,  gave  scope  to  almost  every 
department  of  missionary  labor.  Here  Dr.  Judson  had 
been  residing  before  his  visit  to  America,  engaged  in  his 
dictionary,  and  acting  as  pastor  of  the  native  church ; 
and  thither  he  now  returned.  He  returned  here  the  more 
w3fcgly  as  its  proximity  to  the  idolatrous  empire  for 
wmcn  he  had  so  long  labored  enabled  him  to  catch  the 
first  hint  of  an  invitation  from  Providence  to  reenter  it 
with  his  oft-rejected  message  of  life,  while  it  introduced 
Emily  to  the  land  of  the  heathen  under  the  most  favor- 
able auspices.  Maulmain,  though  the  bulk  of  its  popu- 
lation were  idolaters,  felt  the  breath  of  civilization. 
Cultivated  English  and  several  missionary  families  made 
a  large  circle  of  refined  society. 

A  few  hours  brought  them  up  the  river  in  a  boat  to 
Maulmain  ;  his  two  little  sons,  Henry  and  Edward, 
were  welcomed  to  his  arms,  and  with  them  and  their 
new  "  mamma,"  he  was  soon  reestablished  temporarily 
in  his  old  quarters.  I  leave  details  to  the  pen  of  Mrs. 
Judson. 


238  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 


TO    HER   SISTER. 

Amheest,  November  28, 1846. 

Well,  Katie,  here  we  are  at  last  in  queer,  ridiculous,  half- 
beautiful,  half-frightful,  exceedingly  picturesque  Burmah.  We 
took  in  a  pilot  yesterday,  and  this  morning  came  to  anchor  in 
full  view  of  all  the  greenery  of  the  odd  little  promontory  named 
Amherst.  The  old  weather-beaten  wooden  pagoda,  stationed 
away  out  in  the  water,  and  fully  visible  only  at  low  tide,  is  over- 
looked by  a  charming  sister  on  the  bluff  above,  clad  in  bridal 
whiteness,  with  gilded  ornaments,  and  odd  surroundings  of  vari- 
ous sorts,  that  I  can  hardly  describe  at  this  distance.  How  my 
heart  bounded,  and  every  nerve  thrilled,  as  I  yesterday  watched 
the  purple  hills,  gradually  resolving  themselves  into  the  radiant 
flush  of  real  life,  until  the  green  trees  stood  out  in  beautiful 
relief  against  the  blue  above  them,  and  the  brown  roofs  of  cot- 
tages nestling  among  humbler  greenery,  became  distinct  enough 
to  be  guessed  at.  After  a  five  months'  surfeit  of  brackish  ocean 
breezes,  to  drink  in  such  an  air  as  this  ! — actually  freighted  with 
the  odor  of  fresh  turf,  and  the  delicate  breath  of  fading  |flfees, 
and  the  perfume  of  delicious  fruits  and  rich  tropic  blossoms. 

We  were  visited  last  evening,  before  the  pilot  came  off,  by  a 
boat  load  of  nearly  naked  Madrasees — great  athletic  looking 
fellows,  some  of  our  party  remarked ;  but  as  they  mingled  with 
our  crew,  their  inferiority  of  stature  could  not  but  be  noted, 
and  their  finely  rounded  limbs  struck  me  as  displaying  more 
of  the  grace  and  beauty  of  a  woman  than  the  bold,  muscular 
development  of  the  athlete.  They  are  erect,  with  their  round 
bullets  of  heads  finely,  even  royally  balanced,  a  graceful  carriage 
of  body,  a  pliability  of  limb  that  would  do  no  discredit  to  one 
of  their  own  serpents,  and,  of  course,  great  agility  in  their  move- 
ments; but  in  a  contest  of  mere  strength,  I  should  scarcely 
doubt  that  one  of  our  sailors  would  be  a  match  for  a  half  dozen 
of  them.  The  pilot  is  a  Portuguese,  fat,  square,  and  heavy. 
Catch  any  stress  of  wind  or  weather  disturbing  his  equilibrium. 


THE  OEIENT.  239 

He  states  with  a  very  magisterial  sort  of  an  air  the  impossibility 
of  taking  the  ship  up  to  Maulmain,  as  the  river  is  not  navigable 
by  so  large  a  vessel  at  this  season ;  so  I  suppose  we  shall  go  up 
in  boats. 

We  were  scarcely  anchored  this  morning  when  a  boat  of  six 
or  seven  men  came  bounding  toward  us,  who,  by  the  fluttering 
of  gay  silks,  and  the  display  of  snowy  jackets  and  turbans,  were 
judged  to  be  something  above  mere  boatmen.  As  they  drew 
sufficiently  near  to  be  distinguishable  by  their  features,  one  of 
our  number  who  had  been  for  some  time  silently  watching  them 
from  the  side  of  the  vessel,  leaned  far  over  for  a  moment  gazing 
at  them  intently,  and  then  sent  forth  a  glad  wild  hail.  In  a 
moment  the  glancing  of  oars  ceased,  a  half  dozen  men  sprang 
to  their  feet  to  the  imminent  peril  of  the  odd  nut-shell  in  which 
they  floated,  and  a  wilder,  longer,  and  if  possible  more  joyous 
cry,  showed  that  the  voice  of  the  salutation  was  recognized. 
Christian  beckoned  me  to  his  side.  "  They  are  our  Amherst 
friends,"  he  said ;  "  the  dear,  faithful  fellows  !"  And  these  were 
some  of  the  Christians  of  Burmah !  the  pioneers  of  a  nation ! 
M||M|[>rn  in  idolatry,  sought  out  by  the  Saviour,  while  yet 
bu^WTin  the  black  depths  of  heathenism,  redeemed  and  marked 
for  His  crown  in  glory !  What  a  sublime  thing  to  be  a  mis- 
sionary !  In  a  few  moments  the  men  had  brought  the  boat 
along  side,  and  were  scrambling  up  the  sides  of  the  vessel. 
How  the  black  eyes  danced  beneath  their  grave  brows,  and  the 
rough  lips  curled  with  smiles  behind  the  bristling  beards! 
Then  came  a  quick  grasping  of  hands,  and  half-choked  words 
of  salutation,  in  a  strange,  deep  guttural,  which  he  only  to 
whom  they  were  addressed  could  understand ;  while  I,  like  the 
full-grown  baby  that  I  am,  retreated  to  the  nearest  shadow,  ac- 
tually sobbing;  for  what,  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,  unless  I  might 
have  fancied  myself  a  sort  of  flood-gate  for  the  relief  of  other 
people's  eyes  and  voices.  However,  though  it  had  been  pretty 
strongly  intimated  that  "mamma"  must  not  be  out  of  sight, 
just  at  present,  I  do  not  think  her  madamship  was  missed  until 


240  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.  JUDSOK. 

slie  had  made  herself  tolerably  presentable,  and  then  she  was 
again  beckoned  forward.  The  Burmans  gave  my  hand  a  cordial 
American  grip,  but  their  dusky  palms  were  so  velvety  that  I  do 
not  think  even  your  fingers  would  have  complained  under  the 
pressure.  Then  a  venerable  old  man,  who,  as  I  afterward  learned, 
is  a  deacon  in  the  church,  came  forward,  and  bending  his  tur- 
baned  head  respectfully,  commenced  an  animated  address,  waving 
his  hand  occasionally  to  the  troop  behind  him,  who  bowed  as  in 
assent.  I  have  no  doubt  it  was  a  rare  specimen  of  eloquence, 
but,  of  course,  I  could  not  understand  a  word  of  it,  and  could 
only  curtesy  and  simper  very  foolishly  in  acknowledgment.  You 
will  laugh  when  I  tell  you  I  have  seldom  been  so  embarrassed 
in  my  life.  I  soon  learned  that  the  men  had  reserved  nicely 
matted  seats  for  us  in  the  boat,  and  that  several  of  their  wives 
and  daughters  were  waiting  at  the  jetty,  with  cart  and  oxen,  to 
take  me  up  to  the  village.  Off  ran  I  for  my  bonnet,  but  some- 
body very  peremptorily  interfered,  declaring  that  a  certain  pair 
of  thin  cheeks  were  quite  thin  enough  already  for  their  own- 
er's good ;  and,  moreover,  that  it  was  very  foolish  to  waste  life 
by  keeping  the  heart  all  of  a  flutter,  asserting  that  mine|Jfcie  a 
dozen  trills  and  quavers,  while  that  of  a  sensible  persofftook 
but  one  moderate  step. 

Our  visitors  had  brought  us  bottles  of  milk,  eggs,  fish,  shrimps, 
yams,  sweet  potatoes,  plantains,  and  oranges  for  our  comfort,  and 
while  they  were  unloading  their  treasures,  I  borrowed  the  cap- 
tain's glass,  and  took  a  long  look  at  the  jetty.  I  could  see, 
now  that  I  knew  they  were  actually  there,  the  women  grouped 
along  the  beach,  and  another  object,  which  I  was  told  was  the 
cart  and  a  pair  of  cream  colored  oxen,  standing  farther  back 
upon  the  greensward.  My  feet  fairly  ached  to  press  that  soft 
carpet  of  earth  and  vegetation,  but  even  the  strong  men  who 
came  for  me  acknowledged  that  "  mamma "  was  too  small  for 
the  undertaking,  and  so  went  away  alone. 

Now,  darling,  you  know  I  am  not  a  Niobe;  you  know  I 
always  did  try  to  steer  clear  of  certain  sentimental  indulgences, 


THE    ORIENT.  241 

because  they  were  sure  to  bring  on  headache  without  leaving 
any  mortal  good  in  return.  You  know  I  say  that  I  am  not  one 
of  "  earth's  sorrowful  weepers,"  but  somehow  I  did  get  overtaken 
this  time.  Down  into  my  cabin  I  went,  every  nerve  in  me 
quivering,  and  treated  my  pillow  to  a  regular  tear-bath.  "Twice 
of  a  single  morning?"  you  ask.  Twice  of  a  single  morning, 
dear — or  what  is  nearer  the  truth,  the  quarter  deck  operation 
continued.  I  was  deep  in  the  melting  luxury,  when  the  door 
was  softly  opened,  and  I  knew  that  some  person  stood  beside 
me.  I  did  not  move ;  but  kept  my  face  covered  with  the  toler- 
ably well  wetted  bit  of  linen,  that  had  divided  my  favors  with 
the  pillow ;  fortifying  meanwhile  my  voice  in  anticipation  of  a 
question. 

Presently  I  heard  words,  but  though  spoken  close  to  my  ear, 
they  were  not  addressed  to  me.  How  that  low,  mellow  voice 
crept  down  into  my  heart,  calming  its  foolish  agitation,  impart- 
ing the  strength  of  faith,  illuminating  its  tremulous,  shadowy 
depths  with  hope,  and  elevating  it  to  a  still,  serene  reliance  on 
Him  who  can  be  touched  with  the  feeling  of  our  infirmities, 
sim|j||||^ecause  His  nature  though  sinless,  has  vibrated  to  every 
earthly  emotion.    • 

Then  how  strange  to  be  so  thoroughly  comprehended  !  Any 
body  else  now  would  have  thought  that  I  was  in  a  pet  from  the 
disappointment  of  not  going  on  shore,  or  something  else  of  the 
kind. 

He  knew,  I  can  not  tell  how,  but  he  told  it  all  in  that  prayer 
as  I  never  could  have  done — he  knew  just  how  a  faint  heart 
feels,  suddenly  pressed  upon  with  a  view  of  moral  sublimity  to 
which  it  is  for  the  moment  inadequate  ;  he  knows  what  it  is  to 
have  the  doors  of  time,  all  shut  and  barred,  and  the  long  vista 
of  eternity  stretching  in  solemn  perspective  before  the  shrink- 
ing soul,  and  he  knows  just  what  is  needed  at  such  a  crisis. 

I  remember  a  soothing,  balm-distilling  influence,  a  feeling  of 
perfect  security  and  serenity,  and  then  I  went  to  sleep.  When 
I  awoke,  the  jolly  boat  with  the  officers  and  gentlemen  passen- 
11 


242  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

gers,  Christian  among  them,  had  gone  on  shore,  and  with  the 
exception  of  a  half-hour  devoted  to  the  hopia  tree,  I  have  been 
writing  to  you  ever  since. 

FROM    A   LETTER   TO    FRIENDS    IN    BOSTON. 

.  .  .  We  had  a  long  but  most  delightful  voyage  in  the 
pleasant  Fanueil  Hall,  with  its  fine  accommodations,  kind  offi- 
cers, and  quiet,  orderly  crew ;  and  between  our  internal  resour- 
ces, and  the  constantly  varying  character  of  the  sea-scenery,  we 
could  find  no  time  for  ennui.  Twenty  weeks  from  the  day  on 
which  we  went  abroad,  we  anchored  off  Amherst ;  and  the  next 
Monday  morning,  were  lowered  into  a  Burmese  boat,  to  proceed 
up  to  Maulmain.  I  was  most  agreeably  disappointed  by  my 
first  view  of  the  land  of  palms  and  mosquitoes.  Our  boat  was 
very  much  like  a  long  watering-trough,  whittled  to  a  point  at 
each  end,  and  we  were  all  nestled  like  a  parcel  of  caged  fowls, 
under  a  low  bamboo  cover,  from  which  it  was  not  easy  to  look 
out.  But  the  shore,  along  side  which  we  were  pushed  up  stream 
by  the  might  of  muscle,  was  brilliant  with  its  unpruned  luxuri- 
ance of  verdure,  and  birds,  and  flowers.  «^ 

Here  some  strange  tree  dropped  its  long  trailers  to  the  water, 
there  the  white  rice-bird,  or  a  gayer  stranger,  with  chameleon 
neck  and  crimson  wing,  coquetted  with  its  neighbor,  and  the 
wealth  of  green,  bending  below ;  and  then  followed  rich  blos- 
soms of  new  shapes  and  hues,  and  bearing  new  names,  some  in 
clusters,  and  some  in  long  amber  wreaths,  stained  here  and  there 
with  lemon  and  vermilion,  and  all  bearing  that  air  of  slumbrous 
richness  characteristic  of  the  Indian  climate.  Our  oarsmen 
were  Amherst  Christians,  who  seemed  as  wild  with  joy  as  the 
birds  themselves  (not  that  they  were  particularly  bird-like  in 
any  other  respect),  and  there  was  laughing  and  chattering 
enough  to  make  any  heart  merry.  The  first,  being  a  universal 
language,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  understanding,  but  the  latter 
sounded  to  me  even  more  outlandish  than  their  gaudy  patsoes, 
bare,  brawny  shoulders,  and  turbaned  heads,  appeared  to  the  eye. 


THE   ORIENT.  243 

TO    MES.    GILLETTE. 

Maulmain,  Dec.  20, 1846. 

My  Dear  Mrs.  Gillette, — 

A  year  ago  I  was  sitting  in  your  pleasant  little  parlor, 
never  dreaming  of  such  an  overturn  in  life  as  this,  and  very 
happy ;  but  no  happier  than  I  am  now.  Now  I  have  meas- 
ured half  the  world  by  ship-lengths,  and  stand  here  (or  rather 
sit)  one  of  the  four  legs  of  your  bedstead  while  you  sleep. 
These  turn-abouts  in  life  really  tip  one's  brains  over  curiously. 
I  never  quite  got  my  ideas  straight  after  crossing  the  equator 
until  I  came  in  sight  of  the  north  star  again  ;  and  now  things 
are  worse  than  ever.  Nothing  here,  not  even  a  bird  or  tree, 
is  like  the  vegetable  or  winged  things  across  the  water ;  and 
the  few  articles  that  bear  a  slight  resemblance  to  those  seen 
before  must  needs  have  new  names.  Little  boys'  trowsers  are 
bombeeSj  their  frocks  engees,  and  people  don't  lunch,  they  take 
tiffin.     .     .     . 

I  am  delighted  here  with  every  thing  so  far  as  I  have  yet 
obse^d.  To  be  sure  there  is  little  of  what  in  America  is  con- 
sidered comfort  (what  an  outlandish  oddity  our  house  would  be, 
set  down  in  Delaware,  12th !)  but  there  is  a  picturesque 
beauty — a  mingling  of  awkward  simplicity  with  magnificence 
quite  as  clumsy  and  awkward — a  rich  gorgeousness,  a  fantas- 
tic extravagance,  a  rudeness  sometimes  annoying,  but  oftener 
ludicrous — in  short,  the  scenery,  the  works  of  art  (there  is  no 
small  degree  of  skill  displayed  in  building  a  pagoda,  and  orna- 
menting the  carriages  that  go  up  with  ofi'erings  to  Guadama), 
the  manners  of  the  people,  the  color  of  the  sky,  the  atmosphere, 
are  all  in  perfect  keeping  with  each  other,  and  all  have  an 
oriental  air  which  is  quite  fascinating  to  me.  The  houses  of 
the  missionaries  are  the  plainest  possible,  built  of  teak  boards, 
and  furnished  with  the  same  kind  of  wood,  without  varnish. 
The  partitions  between  the  rooms  are  mere  screens,  reaching 
a  little  above  the  head,  so  that  a  word  spoken  in  one  room  is 


244  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

heard  all  over  the  house.  To  my  eye,  however,  even  these 
houses  have  an  air  of  relative  beauty  about  them  which  nicer 
ones  would  not  have.  If  I  were  fond  of  new  things,  I  should 
think  it  was  because  they  were  new  and  odd ;  but  I  think  I 
was  made  for  an  uncivilized  land.     .     .     . 

Were  we  to  settle  down  in  this  house  with  the  comforts  we 
should  be  able  to  secure,  the  pleasant  English  and  missionary 
families  about  us,  although  in  a  very  different  condition  from 
a  pastor's  family  at  home,  my  taste  would  be  gratified,  and  I 
should,  as  far  as  the  things  of  this  world  are  concerned,  be 
perfectly  happy.  But  that  is  not  to  be.  My  conscience  will 
not  allow  me  to  remain  in  delightful  Maulmain  while  there  is 
the  slightest  hope  of  my  husband's  being  able,  by  going  to  a 
place  of  danger  and  privation,  to  do  any  thing  for  the  miser- 
able nation,  at  the  door  of  which  we  are  standing.  I  am  not 
myself  made  for  great  things,  but  when  I  see  his  heart  turn- 
ing that  way,  I  can  say  "  go,"  and  when  the  trials  come,  I 
know  I  can  cheer  and  comfort  him.  As  soon  as  I  can  get  a  few 
words  of  the  language — a  couple  of  months,  perhaps — we  shall 
put  off  to  Rangoon,  and  there  wait  an  opportunity  to  creep 
into  Ava.     .     .     . 

I  have  discovered  since  I  left  America  that  I  am  incapable  of 
the  emotion  of  fear.  I  have  been  two  or  three  times  pretty 
severely  tried  in  that  respect.  I  may  meet  with  things  at  Ran- 
goon, however,  that  will  make  my  hair  bristle.  God  only 
knows,  and  quietly  in  my  own  closet  I  ask  His  direction  and 
assistance.  You  and  your  dear  good  man  will,  I  trust,  help 
me  ask,  for  none  ever  needed  all  the  graces  of  godliness,  com- 
bined with  singular  wisdom,  more  than  I  do  just  now.  I  love 
the  cause  of  Christ  with  my  whole  heart,  and  I  love,  too,  these 
poor  wretches,  who,  in  ignorance  of  the  ways  of  life,  are  going 
down  to  eternal  misery.  God  make  me  useful  to  them.  I  do 
not  believe  in  practicing  self-denial  for  self-denial's  sake — I 
think  that  a  relic  of  popery — but  I  should  not  shrink  from 


THE   ORIENT.  245 

suflfering  or  even  death  in  His  cause.     I  pray  that  I  may  not 
be  like  Peter  when  I  say  /  never  will.     .     .     , 
Your  affectionate  friend, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 

to  mrs.  stevens. 

January,  1847. 

My  Dear  Mrs.  Stevens, — 

I  have  been  all  day  divided  between  my  desire  to  attend 
your  meeting  this  afternoon  (which  I  know  will  be  interesting) 
and  the  awkwardness  inseparable  from  my  appearance  in  a 
company  of  matrons,  where  I  feel  as  though  I  had  no  right 
to  be. 

I  do  love  the  dear  children  that  a  saint  in  heaven  has  left 
me.  I  love  them  for  their  own  sakes ;  for  sweeter,  more  lovely 
little  creatures  never  breathed  ;  brighter,  more  beautiful  blos- 
soms never  expanded  in  the  cold  atmosphere  of  this  world.  I 
love  them  for  the  sake  of  one  still  dearer,  who  had  the  power 
to  break  all  the  ties  which  were  twined  with  tenfold  strength 
about  my  heart ;  and  I  love  them  because  they  are  immortal 
beings,  because  for  them  a  Saviour  died,  even  as  for  me.  I 
love  them ;  I  pray  to  God  to  help  me  train  them  up  in  His 
fear  and  love. 

I  shall  be  very  thankful,  my  dear  Mrs.  Stevens,  for  any  ad- 
vice you  or  the  loved  sisters  who  will  meet  with  you  to-day, 
can  give  me ;  for  I  know  that  I  am  utterly  unfitted  for  this 
sweet  burden  which  God  has  laid  upon  my  heart  and  hands. 
Please  ask  them  for  their  prayers,  first  in  behalf  of  the  orphans 
afar  off ;  next,  in  behalf  of  the  little  ones  here,  that  they  may 
never  know  the  want  of  a  fond  mother's  care  and  love ;  and 
next,  in  behalf  of  the  new,  inexperienced  mother,  that  God  may 
give  the  wisdom,  patience,  gentleness,  humility,  and  entire  de- 
peudence  on  Him,  necessary  to  their  proper  management ;  so 
that  at  last  I  may  be  able  to  lead  them  up  to  her  who  loved 


246  LIFE   OB^    MRS.    EMILY    0.    JUDSON. 

them  even  more  than  I,  and  say,  "  here  are  thine  own  jewels, 
polished  for  thy  crown." 

Believe  me,  my  dear  Mrs.  Stevens,  it  is  only  the  bashfulness 
attendant  on  a  strange  situation,  and  which  it  seems  impossible 
for  me  to  surmount,  which  keeps  me  from  your  meeting.  May 
Jesus  Christ  be  in  your  midst. 

Afiectionately, 

e:  c.  j. 

I  send  the  children.  Will  you  or  Mrs.  Haswell  be  kind 
enough  to  take  charge  of  them  as  formerly  ? 

JOURNAL. 

Maulmain^  January  1,  1847.  Actually  in  Burmah  !  And 
is  it  really  myself?  Is  the  past  year  a  reality,  or  am  I  still 
dreaming  up  there  in  Dominie  Gillette's  chamber,  where  I  lay 
down  (seemingly)  a  year  ago  ?  If  it  he  a  dream,  I  pray  God 
that  I  may  never  wake,  for  I  believe  that  it  would  break  my 
heart  to  be  other  than  I  am.  Thank  God,  it  is  a  reality — a 
blessed  reality  ;  and  I  am  in  the  very  spot  I  so  longed  to  plant 
my  foot  upon,  years  and  years  gone  by. 

January  2.  I  have  got  a  teacher,  and  made  a  beginning  in 
the  language,  but  the  children  absorb  so  much  of  my  time  that 
I  can  not  study  much.  They  are  dear  little  fellows,  but  so  full 
of  mischief !  Precious  gems  they  are  ;  may  they  not  be  spoiled 
by  so  inexperienced  a  polisher  as  I  am. 

January  5.  It  seems  to  me  as  though  I  do  nothing  but  get  up, 
turn  round,  and  then  go  to  bed  again !  I  believe  there  never 
was  such  a  novice  in  housekeeping  ;  and  then  the  children,  and 
the  language,  and  the  thousand  and  one  other  botherations  !  1 
expected  to  make  a  rush  at  the  language,  take  it  by  storm,  then 
get  a  parcel  of  natives  about  me,  and  go  to  work  in  "  true  apos- 
tolic style."  Not  that  I  had  the  vanity  to  think  myself  very 
apostle-like,  but  I  know,  O  my  Heavenly  Father,  that  Thou 
canst  bless  the  very  meanest  of  Thy  children  if  they  but  look 
up  to  Thee.     And  I  will  continue  to  look  ;  for  though  my  work 


THE  ORIENT.  247 

is  not  what  I  expected,  Thou  canst  bring  great  results  from 
little  causes.     It  is  all  of  Thy  ordering. 

January  6.  We  are  looting  toward  Rangoon,  and  I  pray- 
that  we  may  succeed  in  going.  God's  "  ways  are  not  as  our 
ways,"  and  His  time  may  be  nearer  than  we  suspect.  But  it  is 
very,  very  pleasant  here.  Many  think  we  are  not  wise  in  going 
to  Rangoon,  and  perhaps  we  are  not.  But  if  God's  time  should 
be  at  hand,  we  might  regret  that  we  had  held  back.  At  any 
rate,  it  is  good  to  stand  in  the  way  of  His  providences ;  and  I 
do  not  wish  to  stay  here  until  I  become  attached  to  the  comforts 
of  the  place. 

January  10.  This  taking  care  of  teething  babies,  and  teach- 
ing darkies  to  darn  stockings,  and  talking  English  back  end 
foremost  to  teetotum  John,  in  order  to  get  an  eatable  dinner, 
is  really  very  odd  sort  of  business  for  Fanny  Forester.  I  won- 
der what  my  respectable  friends  of  the  anti-F.  F.  school  would 
say,  if  they  could  see  my  madamly  airs.  But  I  begin  to  get 
reconciled  to  my  minute  cares.  I  believe  women  were  made 
for  such  things ;  though  when  I  get  settled,  I  hope  to  put  in  a 
mixture  of  higher  and  better  things,  too.  But  the  person  who 
would  do  great  things  well,  must  practice  daily  on  little  ones ; 
and  she  who  would  have  the  assistance  of  the  Almighty  *q  im- 
portant acts,  must  be  daily  and  hourly  accustomed  to  consult 
His  will  in  the  minor  affairs  of  life. 

January  13.  It  is  late,  and  we  have  spent  the  greater  part 
of  the  evening  in  talking  over  old  times.  0,  how  I  rejoice  that 
I  am  out  of  the  whirlpool !  Too  gay,  too  trifling  for  a  mission- 
ary's wife  !  That  may  be,  but  after  all,  gayety  is  my  lightest 
sin.  It  is  my  coldness  of  heart,  my  listlessness,  my  want  of  faith, 
my  spiritual  inefficiency  and  inertness,  my  love  of  self,  the 
inherent  and  every  day  pampered  sinfulness  of  my  nature,  that 
makes  me  such  a  mere  infant  in  the  cause  of  Christ — not  the 
attractions  of  the  world. 

January  14.  I  did  not  think  that  I  should  feel  so  sad  to  be 
left  alone  only  these  few  weeks ;  but  the  prospect  actually  makes 


248  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

my  heart  faint.  We  have  been  daily  and  hourly  together  ever 
since  our  marriage,  and  his  presence  is  my  very  life.  I  hear  his 
step  now,  as  he  goes  from  room  to  room,  making  all  the  arrange- 
ments in  his  power  for  my  comfort.  So  thoughtful !  so  tender! 
so  delicate  !  O,  there  are  few  on  earth  so  blest  as  I !  And  how 
kind  must  be  my  heavenly  Friend,  to  lead  me  in  such  a  pleasant 
path,  and  make  a  place  for  me  in  such  a  heart ! 

January  16.  Not  well  to-day.  I  slept  but  an  hour  or  two 
last  night,  and  that  very  brokenly.  I  suppose  it  is  foolish  in 
me  to  allow  this  matter  to  weigh  so  heavily  upon  my  spirits ; 
but  it  is  a  little  solace  to  my  wounded  vanity  that  I  am  not  the 
only  foolish  one.  If  men  who  have  been  through  prisons  and 
all  perils  weep  at  such  separations,  surely  such  a  weakling  as  I 
should  not  be  put  in  a  strait-jacket.  The  truth  is,  we  poor 
humans  are  utterly  baffled  in  attempting  to  estimate  each  other's 
sufferings.  I  will  venture  to  assert  that  it  required  a  far  greater 
effort  in  Ann  H.  Judson  to  leave  her  husband  {such  a  husband  !) 
in  Rangoon,  and  go  to  America  alone,  than  to  play  the  heroic 
part  in  his  presence,  and  for  his  sake,  that  she  did  at  Ava. 

But  Dr.  J.'s  going  to  Rangoon  for  two  or  three  weeks  is  not 
my  going  to  America,  and  I  must  try  not  to  be  quite  a  fool. 
What  would  people  in  America,  who  believe  that  missionaries 
are  or  ought  to  be  destitute  of  natural  affection,  say  to  this 
struggle?  But  they  can  not  know  of  it,  and  I  shall  be  the  last 
to  tell.  Let  them  think,  if  they  like,  that  I  came  on  a  literary 
speculation,  and  so  made  merchandise  of  myself  for  ambition, 
as  some  have  done  for  the  sake  of  religion.  How  little  they 
know  the  hearts  of  either  of  us.  And  what  a  blessing  that 
God  is  omniscient ! 

January  20.  All  alone,  and  so  lonely  !  My  life  is  one  con- 
tinued heartache,  for  I  continually  feel  as  though  he  was  dead. 
My  family  worship  is  broken  by  tears,  for  it  is  Ms  business  ;  and 
when  I  attempt  to  bless  the  food  at  meals,  my  voice  sometimes 
utterly  fails.     Alone  with  the  children  about  me,  and  trying  to 


THE   ORIENT.v  249 

fill  his  place,  I  feel  widowed  indeed.     I  have  but  one  refuge,  and 
this  helps  me  to  live.     I  know  too  thfit  he  is  praying  for  me. 

January  2l.  As  I  lay  alone  upon  my  pillow  to-day,  my  head 
racked  with  nervous  pain,  and  the  children  frolicking  about  the 
rooms,  many  strange  thoughts  passed  through  my  mind.  What 
are  God's  designs  toward  me,  that  my  life  from  the  very  cradle 
has  been  such  an  uninterrupted  chain  of  discipline  ?  Has  He 
been  preparing  me  for  any  unheard  of  sufferings  ?  Does  He 
intend  to  make  me  an  instrument  in  accomplishing  some  mighty 
good  ?  Or  is  all  this  designed  merely  to  fit  my  own  soul  for 
the  inheritance  of  the  saints  ?  If  the  latter,  how  ought  I  to 
labor  and  strive  to  improve  by  His  strange  dispensations !  I 
have  not  yet  seen  thirty  years,  and  such  changes ! — such  varie- 
ties of  fortune  1  I  seem  to  have  lived  a  century.  I  have  been 
tried  both  by  adversity  and  prosperity,  by  undeserved  praise 
and  by  censure  equally  undeserved.  I  have  toiled  both  by 
night  and  by  day,  have  been  pinched  by  want  and  overwhelmed 
by  plenty,  and  all  for  what  purpose  ?  O,  my  Heavenly  Father, 
bless  unto  me  all  Thy  past  dispensations,  and  prepare  me  for 
whatever  Thou  hast  marked  out  for  me  in  future.  Make  me  a 
good  wife,  a  good  mother,  and  a  good  teacher  of  the  heathen — 
an  example  which  the  native  converts  may  safely  follow. 

January  29.  I  am  going  on  beautifully  with  the  language ; 
I  do  not  believe  it  will  be  very  hard  for  me. 

January  30,  Both  children  are  quite  ill  to-day,  and  I  am 
full  of  cares.  0,  my  poor  little  motherless  boys !  I  do  pray 
that  our  Heavenly  Father  may  give  me  a  soft  and  pitying  heart 
toward  you.  It  is  so  sad  for  such  mere  babies  to  be  torn  from 
their  homes  and  put  into  a  stranger's  hands,  especially  a  stranger 
so  inexperienced  as  I  am.    How  much  I  need  to  pray ! 

11* 


CHAPTER    XV. 

KECONNOITEEING. 

"Then  on,  tlien  on,  where  duty  leads, 
My  course  be  onward  still." 

Mrs.  Judson  is  left  alone.  Eight  across  the  narrow 
Gulf  of  Martaban  lies  Pegu,  subject  to  Burman  domi- 
nion,  with  its  capital,  Rangoon,  the  seat  of  Dr.  Judson's 
earliest  missionary  labors.  Thither  he  has  now  deter- 
mined again  to  repair,  to  try  what  hope  there  may  be  of 
resuscitating  its  extinguished  mission.  On  the  18th  of 
January  he  embarked  in  the  ship  Cecilia,  and  reached 
Rangoon  on  the  23rd.  He  was  received  by  the  Governor 
(or  Woon-gyee)  with  great  personal  kindness  and  respect, 
(for  he  had  rendered  important  services  to  the  Burmese 
in  bringing  about  a  peace  with  England,)  and  was  per- 
mitted and  invited  to  come  there  as  a  preacher  to  the 
resident  foreigners,  but  not  as  a  missionary  or  "propa- 
gator of  religion."  The  Burmese  Government  had  re- 
ceded even  from  its  former  partial  religious  tolerance,  and 
thrown  itself  back  for  the  maintenance  of  the  national 
faith  on  the  sure  argument  of  power.  But,  doubtful 
as  was  the  experiment.  Dr.  Judson  resolved  to  try  it, 
and  stand  ready,  at  least,  for  any  possibilities  of  effort. 
He  engaged  for  his  family  the  upper  story  of  a  large, 


RECONNOITERING.  251 

desolate  brick  building,  in  a  street  of  Mussulmans,  which 
figures  in  Mrs.  Judson's  correspondence  sometimes  as 
"  Bat  Castle/'  and  sometimes  as  "  Green  Turban's  den/' 
Keturning  he  reached  Maulmain  on  the  6th  of  Feb- 
ruary. 

FROM    DR.    JUDSON. 

On  Boaed  the  Cecilia,  January  19,  '47. 

My  Dearest  Love — 

I  awoke  this  pleasant  morning  thinking  of  you,  and  imag- 
ining bow  you  were  sleeping,  and  how  you  were  getting  up, 
and  how  you  were  employing  yourself  about  the  children  and 
the  house.  It  seems  as  if  I  had  been  associated  with  you  for 
many  years ;  and  hardly  knew  how  to  deport  myself  in  your  ab- 
sence. When  I  came  out  of  my  cabin  this  morning,  we  were 
losing  sight  of  Maulmain,  and  are  now  in  sight  of  Amherst.  I 
write  this  line  to  send  back  by  Captain  Crisp,  Sen.,  who  is  now  on 
board.  I  received  letters  and  accounts  yesterday  from  my  agents 
in  Calcutta,  and  put  them  under  the  cover  containing  the  other 
valuable  papers;  you  had  better  look  them  over.  I  only  noticed 
that  the  balance  due  me  at  the  close  of  last  year  was  two 
thousand  six  hundred  rupees,  which  is  much  larger  than  I 
expected. 

I  feel  in  excellently  good  spirits  in  regard  to  making  the  at- 
tempt at  Rangoon,  though  I  see  no  particular  reason  to  hope 
for  success.  I  intend  to  do  all  ihat  lies  in  my  power,  and  am 
quite  willing  to  leave  the  event  in  the  hands  of  God.  "  Trust 
in  God  and  keep  your  powder  dry,"  was  Cromwell's  word  to  his 
soldiers.  Trust  in  God  and  love  one  another  is,  I  think,  a  bet- 
ter watchword.  Let  us  do  the  duties  of  religion  and  of  love,  and 
all  will  be  well.  Conjugal  love  stands  first.  Happy  those  who 
find  that  duty  and  pleasure  coincide.  Then  comes  parental 
love  and  filial  love ;  then  love  to  associates,  and  then  love  to 
all  that  come  within  our  reach.  I  have  been  talking  with 
Crisp  this  two  hours,  and  you  see  I  have  become  quite  ethical. 


252  LIFE   OF  MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

Sweet  love,  I  wish  I  could  reason  out  the  subject,  and  come  to 
a  satisfactory  solution  on  your  lips.     Farewell  for  the  present. 
Ever  thine,  A.  Judson. 

FROM   DR.    JUDSON. 

On  Board  thk  Cecilia,  Jan.  20, 1847. 

My  Dearest  Love, — 

We  are  just  passing  between  the  two  buoys  off  Amherst, 
the  pilot's  boat  is  coming  off,  and  he  will  leave  us  in  an  hour. 
I  write  a  line  by  him,  but  it  may  not  reach  you  immediately. 
Another  beautiful  morning.  The  hopia  tree  is  just  visible  from 
the  shore.  I  seem  to  have  lived  in  several  worlds ;  but  you 
are  the  earthly  sun  that  illuminates  my  present.  My  thoughts 
and  affections  revolve  around  you,  and  cling  to  your  form,  and 
face,  and  lips.  Other  luminaries  have  been  extinguished  in 
death.  I  think  of  them  with  mournful  delight,  and  anticipate 
the  time  when  we  shall  all  shine  together  as  the  brightness  of 
the  firmament  and  as  the  stars  for  ever  and  ever. 

I  should  be  glad  to  get  a  line  from  you  and  the  children 
before  I  lose  sight  of  the  coast,  but  it  can  not  be.  I  trust  I 
shall  get  something  by  the  JErwin,  in  which  Captain  Antram  is 
to  take  passage.  Pray  take  care  of  yourself.  ...  I  left 
four  books  at  the  printing-office  to  be  bound.  Ask  brother 
Kanney  about  them,  and  when  you  get  them,  I  should  be  glad 
to  have  you  read  the  memoir  of  Hester  Ann  Rogers.  Once 
more  farewell,  dearest  and  best.  "  Think  of  me,  sweet,  when 
alone." 

Yours  ever, 

A.  JuDSON. 

TO    DR.    JUDSON. 

Maulmain,  Jan.  20,  Saturday  Evening. 

My  Own  Blessed  Darling, — 

I  have  been  exceedingly  distressed  about  writing  to 
you,  for  I  thought  you  would  be  worried  about  us,  and  have 


RECONNOITERING.  .    253 

no  opportunity  of  hearing  until  your  return.  Captain  Antram 
has,  however,  just  sent  word  that  he  leaves  early  to-morrow 
morning,  and  so  I  sit  down  in  my  night-dress  to  tell  you  that 
all  is  going  on  like  clock-work.  There  has  been  a  robbery  in 
the  printing-office,  and  so  I  have  got  two  of  Mrs.  Howard's 
scholars  to  sleep  with  Moung  Shway  Kyo,  and  they  do  sleep  ! 
Captain  A.'s  servant  made  plenty  of  noise,  and  I  walked  fairly 
over  them  to  the  door,  but  they  are  snoring  still.  Little 
Edward  is  quite  well  again,  though  I  was  obliged  to  go  to  Mrs. 
S.  about  him  again,  being  unwilling  to  call  a  physician,  unless 
obliged  to. 

We  have  heard  that  the  king  is  really  assassinated.  I  am 
prepared  for  almost  any  thing  strange,  and  I  think  that  these 
various  overturnings  must  turn  up  something  favorable  to  our 
object.  How  good  of  you,  darling,  to  write  me  those  two  sweet 
letters,  when  I  didn't  expect  any !  They  made  me  cry,  like 
the  baby  that  I  am,  in  gratitude.  Oh,  if  we  are  ever  safely  to- 
gether again,  I  will  follow  you  wherever  you  go,  in  spite  of 
difficulties.  Not  that  every  thing  is  not  pleasant  now,  but  these 
separations  are  not  good.  I  look  in  my  room  and  through  my 
dressing-room  window  up  to  the  chapel  for  you  every  day  in 
vain.  And  you. — I  think  of  you,  darling,  although  I  write 
about  myself.  I  think  of  you  on  the  sea,  perhaps  in  danger  ; 
on  the  land,  alone  and  exposed  to — what  ?  Oh,  if  I  could  only 
know  precisely  what ! 

I  have  no  choice  at  all  between  Maulmain  and  Rangoon. 
Decide  as  you  shall  think  best.  I  know  you  will  not  let 
this  world's  comforts  weigh  with  you,  and  yet  you  will  be 
prudent. 

Farewell,  my  "  home,"  my  life,  my  all  but  God  and  heaven. 
Farewell  for  a  little  while,  but  come  as  soon  as  possible.  May 
the  best  .blessing  of  Heaven  be  about  thee,  my  precious,  precious 
husband  (my  heart  bounds  with  pride  and  pleasure  as  my  pen 
first  addresses  thee  by  this  title,  darling) ;  may  the  blessing  of 


254  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.    JUDSON. 

Heaven  be  upon  thee,  and  all  sad  thoughts  and  remembrances 
be  kept  far  away.     So  prays  daily, 

Thy  loving  wife, 

Emily. 

I  have  not  let  the  clock  run  down,  nor  neglected  to  feed  the 
fowls ! ! 

FROM   DR.   JUDSON, 

TO  FANNY  FOBESTEE   JUDSON. 

Kangoon,  Jan.  29, 184T. 

Tide  ebbs  and  flows,  day  comes  and  goes, 

The  orbs  inconstant  shine  ; 
One  vestal  lamp  for  ever  glows, 

The  thought  that  thou  art  mine. 

Though  now,  an  exile  far  remote, 

In  foreign  lands  I  pine 
To  catch  a  glance  of  thy  bright  eyes, 

I  know  those  eyes  are  mine. 

Though  seas  and  mountains  interpose. 

And  elements  combine 
To  bar  the  mutual,  melting  kiss, 

I  know  thy  lips  are  mine. 

And  though  around  thy  graceful  form 

In  vain  I  long  to  twine 
My  arms,  and  feel  thy  beating  heart, 

I  know  that  heart  is  mine. 

And  joy  it  gives  my  inmost  soul 

That,  as  thy  love  is  mine, 
Thou  know'st,  beyond  a  shade  of  doubt, 

My  constant  heart  is  thine. 


RECONNOITERING.  255 

Nor  deatli  shall  loose  the  bonds  of  love, 

Or  cause  me  to  resign 
My  claim  upon  thy  lifeless  form — 

In  the  grave  thou  shalt  be  mine. 

And  when  before  the  Throne  we  stand, 

Arrayed  in  charms  divine, 
I  shall  be  thine,  and  thou,  my  love. 

Be  ever,  ever  mine. 

My  Dearest  Love,- — 

The  vessel  by  which  I  wrote  you  last  night  is,  I  believe, 
still  in  the  river.  She  has  had  the  blue  Peter  (the  sailing  flag) 
hoisted  ever  since  we  have  been  here.  Such  is  the  endless 
delay  of  the  place.  The  Gyne^m  which  I  have  engaged  my 
passage,  will  not  sail  till  next  Monday;  to-day  is  Friday.  I 
think  she  will  sail  then,  because  Antram  and  the  rest  will 
be  anxious  to  return.  No  further  news.  I  have  made  all 
my  inquiries,  and  done  all  my  business  here,  and  want  to 
be  off. 

Your  precious  letter  by  Rozario  came  in  this  morning.  I 
fold  you  in  my  inmost  heart. 

I  forgot  to  mention  that  for  several  days  I  have  suffered 
from  an  ophthalmic  affection  of  the  left  eye.  It  is  now  bet- 
ter ;  but  I  don't  like  to  write  by  lamp-light,  as  I  am  now 
doing. 

So  farewell,  dear,  dear  wife,  and  kiss  Henry  and  Edward  for 
papa,  and  Lydia  too,  and  keep  one  eye  open  in  the  night. 
Yours  ever, 

A.   JUDSON, 

TO    REV.    MR.    COREY. 

Matjlmain,  January  31, 1847. 

My  Dear  Mr.  Corey, —  ^ 

.     .     .    I  am  writing  you,  merely  because  I  feel  like  doing 


256  LIFE   OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

SO — because  I  think  of  you  as  you  used  to  sit  wlien  I  went 
bounding  down  to  Aunt  Cynthia's  room  of  a  bright  morning. 
I  can  not  write  a  "  missionary  letter,"  and  you  will  not  disgrace 
me  by  letting  any  one  see  a  "common  letter"  such  as  I  would 
have  written  on  American  soil.  So  then — to  you  just  as  I 
would  chat  with  you  if  you  were  to  step  in  now,  and  sit  down 
by  the  square  hole  which  we  dignify  by  calling  window.  We 
should  be  alone,  for  the  Doctor  has  been  gone  to  Rangoon  a 
couple  of  weeks,  and  I  have  sent  the  children  out,  now  that  the 
sun  is  nearly  down,  to  have  a  frolic  upon  the  grass.  The  first 
thing  you  did  probably,  would  be  to  remark  the  difference  be- 
tween our  barn-like  looking  house,  and  the  comfortable  ones  in 
TJtica ;  and  I  should  tell  you  that  a  Utica  house  here  would  be 
tipped  into  the  river.  And  so  it  would ;  for  though  they  are 
mere  board  shanties  in  comparison,  nobody  could  live  in  it ; 
then,  perhaps,  I  should  tell  you  that  Edward  cried  in  the  night 
(last  night),  and  as  he  is  not  well,  I  sprang  up  to  go  to  him. 
4.S  I  stepped  my  foot  upon  the  floor,  it  was  like  thrusting  it 
into  the  fire.  I  immediately  got  a  light,  and  found  the  floor 
black  with  ants — no  uncommon  thing.  We  are  obliged  to  have 
our  bedsteads  stand  constantly  in  water.  I  do  not  know 
whether  or  not  I  should  tell  you  how  the  frogs  hop  from  my 
sleeves  when  I  put  them  on,  and  how  the  lizards  drop  from  the 
ceiling  to  the  table  when  we  are  eating.  I  do  not  think  I  should 
mention  my  feet ;  but  you  would  see  that  I  found  it  impossible 
to  keep  them  still,  and  had  them  in  immensely  large  shoes,  and 
you  would  probably  think  of  the  ant-bites,  especially  as  you 
would  see  several  on  the  backs  of  my  hands. 

"You  would  not  need  to  be  told  that  Maulmain  is  a  beautiful 
place,  for  you  would  see  it;  still  I  think  I  should  launch*  out 
somewhat  in  its  praises.  To  my  eye  there  is  nothing  in  a  land 
of  frosts  to  compare  with  it.  Our  house,  as  it  was  built  first,  is 
much  the  poorest  one  in  the  mission,  and  the  least  pleasantly 
situated ;  but  I  would  not  exchange  it  for  any  thing  belonging 
to  a  cold  climate.    Then  the  scenery  around  is  perfectly  charm- 


RECONNOITERING.  257 

ing.  Just  mount  a  little  Burman  pony,  and  come  along  with 
Mrs.  Stevens,  Mrs.  Has  well  and  me,  just  as  the  mist  is  rising 
from  the  river  in  the  morning.  The  hills  are  bristling  with 
white  and  gilded  pagodas  ;  the  tiny  bells  attached  to  them  are 
giving  out  faint  music  ;  and  at  their  base  the  mendicant  priests 
wander  about  in  their  yellow  dresses,  looking  the  personification 
of  the  misery  which  they  are  dealing  out  to  their  fellows.  You 
pity  the  poor  wretches  in  spite  of  yourself.  As  you  turn  your 
back  upon  the  hills,  a  scene  unrivaled  in  picturesque  beauty 
opens  upon  your  view,  and  you  involuntarily  draw  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  street,  and  stand  erect  in  your  stirrups.  The  mist 
hangs  like  a  silver  vail  above  the  river  which  is  specked  with 
very  curious  looking  boats,  and  just  before  you  lies,  like  a  gem 
of  emerald,  the  island  of  sacred  water.  On  the  right  hand  the 
land  rises,  in  some  parts  precipitously,  and  here  and  there  little 
houses  like  last  year's  hay-stacks,  are  stuck  down  in  groves  of 
various  kinds  of  trees — the  palm,  cocoa,  orange,  lime,  and  jack, 
etc.,  etc.  You  are  met  all  along  the  way  by  the  turbaned  heads 
of  different  nations ;  for  Maulmain  seems  to  be  a  place  of  general 
conference.  A  portly,  king-like  Mogul  rolls  by  in  his  lumbering 
gazzee ;  a  Jew  in  his  own  peculiar  costume  is  wending  his  way 
to  his  merchandise,  looking,  poor  fellow !  little  like  a  child  of 
Abraham  ;  the  Chinaman  toddles  along  in  his  high-toed  shoes 
and  silken  trowsers;  the  Indian  from  the  other  coast  covers 
himself  entirely  with  his  white  flowing  drapery,  making  a  very 
ghost-like  appearance  as  he  squats  on  the  hill-side,  or  glides 
along  the  street ;  the  ugly  Portuguese,  aping  the  ungraceful 
English  style  of  dress,  jogs  on  his  way  in  clerk-like  fashion ; 
and  the  Burman  with  his  chequered  patso  thrown  over  his 
shoulders  and  descending  to  his  knees,  to  protect  him  from  the 
chill  air  of  morning,  steps  from  the  road,  and  stares  admiringly, 
exclaiming  meanwhile  at  the  courage  of  the  English  ladies.  I 
believe  both  Burmans  and  Hindoos  think  English  women  braver 
and  more  daring  than  any  of  the  men  of  the  East.  And  though 
they  are,  most  of  them,  fine,  muscular-looking  fellows,  I  think  I 


258  LIFE   OF    MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

sliould  scarce  fear  a  half-dozen.  A  robbery  took  place  in  our 
compound  at  the  printing  office,  since  Dr.  J.'s  absence,  and  Miss 
Lillybridge  and  I  have  but  a  timid  Burman  boy  to  garrison  our 
weak  fort,  who  I  know  would  run  at  the  least  rustling  of  dan- 
ger. If  we  can  put  on  a  bold  front  and  stand  erect,  I  suppose 
there  is  no  danger  here ;  but  I  am  told  we  have  a  dilSferent  kind 
of  men — more  savage — in  Burmah  proper.  If  we  go  to  Ran- 
goon God  only  knows  what  lies  before  us.  Maulmain  to  my  taste 
is  pleasanter  than  any  thing  in  America ;  though  to  a  person  of 
less  romance  (I  find  that  I  have  romance,  although  I  supposed 
it  entirely  worn  out  before  I  left  America),  there  must  be  a 
great  many  blots  upon  the  picture.  Articles  to"  eat  and  wear 
are  sadly  circumscribed,  but  the  eye  has  a  feast.  And  then, 
while  I  lay  no  claim  to  much  missionary  spirit,  it  is  a  comfort 
to  pick  the  poor  wretches  out  of  the  mire  and  filth,  and  give 
them  the  hope  of  a  crown  in  heaven.  There  is  a  "romance" 
in  that  which  makes  me  deem  a  residence  in  a  Maulmain  bam 
or  a  Rangoon  prison,  preferable  to  the  most  splendid  American 
mansion  or  European  palace.     .     .     . 

I  was  just  called  to  look  at  a  bon^  hong  tantah,  as  little  Hen- 
ry calls  it — a  Burman  funeral.  It  is  a  very  splendid  aff'air,  and 
the  music  has  been  within  hearing  for  a  couple  of  hours.  The 
dead  is  borne  in  a  magnificent  car  of  gold  and  scarlet,  with  of- 
ferings of  fruit  and  flowers  before,  and  a  priest  in  his  yellow  robes 
at  the  side.  It  is  a  strange  sight.  I  have  written  two  long  let- 
ters already,  or  I  would  describe  it  more  particularly.  "My  love 
to  ISIrs.  Corey,  and  believe  me,  my  dear  sir, 

Yours  most  sincerely, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 

February  2.  I  received  a  letter  from  Mr.  Judson  yesterday. 
He  had  not  seen  the  governor  but  had  found  a  house  which  he 
says  is  "  as  gloomy  as  a  prison.''  He  writes,  "  I  turn  from  all 
this  filth  and  wretchedness  to  you ;  and  how  can  I  think  of 
■taking  you  from  the  comforts  of  Maulmain  into  this  den?"    We 


RECONNOITERING.  259 

sliall  go  now  unless   the  government  absolutely  forbids  it,  as 
s©on  as  he  returns.     I  am  busy  packing  up  again. 

FROM   DR.   JUDSON. 

Rangoon,  February  2, 184T. 

My  Darling, 

We  move  from  the  Gyne  to  the  Thistle^  and  from  the 
Thistle  back  to  the  Gyne,  according  to  the  whims  of  Antram 
&  Co.  I  dutifully  follow  in  their  wake.  Yesterday  we  got  all 
our  things  on  board  the  Thistle  ;  to-day  we  have  changed  our 
quarters  to  get  more  room.  For  a  day  or  two  I  have  had 
nothing  about  me  but  the  clothes  I  have  on.  The  Thistle  drops 
down  with  this  noon's  tide,  and  I  write  this  line  to  send  by  her. 
The  Gyne  says  she  will  move  with  this  evening's  tide,  but  I 
guess  not  till  to-morrow's.  It  is  doubtful  which  will  arrive  first 
— both,  probably,  near  the  end  of  the  week.  I  have  received 
two  precious  letters  from  you,  and  have  sent  you  several  to 
which  I  am  afraid  that  epithet  can  not  be  fairly  applied.  I 
have  some  desire  to  see  your  sweet  face  once  more,  and  fold  you 
in  my  arms.  May  we  be  blessed  with  a  happy  meeting !  From 
all  I  hear,  we  shall  be  a  fortnight,  or  three  weeks  or  more,  in 
Maulmain,  before  we  get  passage  in  the  City  of  London.  The 
longer  I  stay  here  the  more  tolerable  a  future  residence  appears. 
But  it  will  be  dull  work,  except  so  far  as  we  find  happiness  in 
ourselves  and  in  God.  And  there  will  be  many  external  dis- 
comforts. I  don't  care  so  much  for  myself,  but  I  hate  to  reward 
your  kindness  and  love  to  me  by  dragging  you  into  this  forlorn, 
dreary  place.  They  are  pretending  to  put  some  polish  on  the 
upper  story  of  "  Green  Turban's"  den,  against  Madam's  arrival. 
And  they  are  taking  some  precautions  against  fire,  according 
to  my  suggestions.  Farewell,  Zwt}  /^ov,  my  life,  my  love,  and 
dear  Henry  and  Edward. 


Yours  ever, 


A.  JuDSON. 


260  LIFE    OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 


FROM   DR.   JUDSON. 

On  boabd  the  Gyne,  February  5, 184T. 

My  Darling  Love, — 

We  sailed  from  Rangoon  on  the  3d,  and  must  be  near 
Amherst.  In  fact,  the  Martaban  Hills  are  said  to  be  in  sight. 
I  write  a  line  to  send  up  by  some  chance  opportunity,  in  case 
we  are  detained  a  tide  or  so  at  Amherst.  This  little  absence 
has  taught  me  how  much  dearer  you  are  now,  my  wife,  than 
formerly,  my — ^my  ladye-love — is  that  the  word?  Ah,  you 
have  been  doing  the  thing  ever  since  we  were  married,  though 
I  have  repeatedly  told  you  not  to  do  it,  and  you  faithfully 

promised,  before  Dr.  K ,  to  love,  honor,  and  obey  ;  you  will 

not  attend  to  the  latter  particular,  but  will  keep  going  on  making 
me  love  you  in  spite  of  myself.  This  is  what  you  have  done 
ever  since  we  first  met.  However,  I  am  determined  to  assert 
my  right  one  of  these  days,  and  rise  superior  to  all  vain  fascina- 
tions. Yes,  when  I  get  you  into  Burmah  proper,  we  will  see  if 
you  wont  mind.  Ah,  darling  love,  what  nonsense  I  am  writing ! 
Your  last  was  the  24th  of  January.  Twelve  days  have  passed, 
and  many  things  may  have  happened  in  that  time  afi'ecting  you 
seriously. 

We  have  just  anchored  in  full  view  of  Amherst,  and  must 
wait  six  hours  for  the  tide  to  turn.  But  it  is  impossible  to  write 
with  all  this  chattering  about  me.  What  shall  I  say  ?  It  has 
been  the  plague  of  my  life  to  be  forced  into  the  company  of 
people  whom  I  had  no  wish  to  see  or  hear.  I  hope  the  time 
will  come  when  we  shall  be  able  to  enjoy  one  another's  society, 
and  pursue  our  proper  work,  acquiring  and  using  a  heathen  lan- 
guage for  the  dissemination  of  Gospel  truth  (the  most  glorious 
work  that  man  can  be  engaged  in),  without  the  everlasting  an- 
noyance and  din  of  company.  But  then,  perhaps,  you  will  get 
tired  of  me,  and  long  for  the  society  you  formerly  enjoyed. 
And  I  am  sure  I  should  not  blame  you,  or  think  it  at  all  strange. 
I  only  think  it  strange  that  you  could  make  up  your  mind  to 


RECONNOITEKING.  261 

follow  "the  fortunes  of  that  lone  missionary"  so  contentedly  as 
you  have.  You  say  you  love  me  because  I  am  so  good !  Why 
don't  you  add — and  so  handsome  ?  That  would  be  equally  ap- 
propriate. Ah,  poor  girl,  you  have  been  sadly  taken  in.  Cir- 
cumstances combined  to  make  me  a  sort  of  lion  at  home,  and  I 
took  advantage  of  my  adventitious  position  to  find  my  way  to 
your  heart.  I  almost  condemn  myself  for  a  villain,  and  my 
only  apology  is  that  I  could  not  help  it.  However,  when  I 
think  of  the  affair  in  connection  with  religion  and  eternity,  I 
feel  that  it  has  been  my  precious  privilege  to  draw  you  from  a 
situation  of  danger  to  one  which,  with  the  blessing  of  God,  will 
conduce  to  your  highest,  your  everlasting  benefit.  And  to  attain 
such  an  end,  I  should  not  value  another  voyage  to  America, 
dearest  and  best. 

"Here  we  lie,  with  Amherst  in  sight  from  our  cabin  window. 
Amherst,  whither  I  brought  Ann,  and  returned  to  find  her 
grave ;  Amherst,  whither  I  brought  Sarah,  on  returning  from 
my  matrimonial  tour  to  Tavoy,  and  whence  I  took  her  away  in 
the  Paragon,  to  return  no  more  ;  Amherst,  the  terminus  of  my 
long  voyage  in  the  Faneuil  Hall  with  Emily.  The  place  seems 
like  the  centre  of  many  radii  of  my  past  existence,  though  not 
a  place  where  any  of  us  have  lived  for  any  length  of  time. 
Ann  never  saw  Maulmain;  Sarah  never  saw  Rangoon.  If  we 
should  remove  to  the  latter  place,  it  would  seem  to  me  like 
beginning  my  life  anew.  May  it  be  under  more  propitious  aus- 
pices, and  may  the  latter  part  of  life  make  some  atonement  for 
the  errors  of  the  former.  May  you,  my  dearest,  be  happy,  and 
useful,  and  blessed  there!  May  we  be  luminaries  to  Burmah, 
and  may  our  setting  sun  descend  in  a  flood  of  light !  Who  shall 
paint  the  glories  of  the  eternity  before  us  ?  Eye  hath  not  seen, 
nor  ear  heard,  etc.  I  hope  to  get  up  to  Maulmain  some  time 
to-morrow.  So  farewell  once  more,  and  believe  me  to  be,  with 
ever  growing  affection  and  esteem. 

Your  devoted  husband, 

A.  JUDSON. 


262  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

They  immediately  commenced  their  preparations  for 
departure.  Pleasant,  picturesque.  English  Maulmainwas 
to  be  exchanged  for  gloomy,  idolatrous  Burman  Rangoon 
— the  former  with  English  society  and  under  English 
safe-guards  of  life  and  liberty ;  the  latter  withdrawn 
from  Christian  influence,  subject  to  a  despotism  abso- 
lute, capricious,  and  cruel,  and  with  almost  nothing  to 
relieve  the  loathsome  aspects  of  heathenism.  The"  little 
Church  once  gathered  here  had  been  scattered  to  the 
winds,  and  all  the  Christian  labor  of  years  had  not 
probably  left  the  slightest  perceptible  influence  on  the 
general  aspect  of  society.  But  Dr.  Judson  was  not  a 
man  to  balance  comfort  against  usefulness.  His  early 
devotion  on  the  altar  of  sacrifice  had  been  absolute  and 
irrevocable  ;  and  his  delicate  wife,  if  she  possessed  less 
of  strictly  missionary  zeal,  had  a  high,  heroic  heart,  and 
a  self-sacrificing  temper,  which  responded  to  and  some- 
times almost  outstripped  the  glowing  ardor  of  her  hus- 
band's. As  she  had  turned  with  tearful  joy  from  the 
refined  endearments  of  her  American  home,  she  now 
abandoned  no  less  readily  the  comforts  and  intelligence 
of  Maulmain,  and  willingly  plunged  with  her  husband 
into  the  deepest  night  of  heathenism,  if  with  him  she 
might  scatter  through  it  some  rays  of  celestial  light. 

Rangoon,  too,  was  far  from  being  the  Rangoon  of  the 
present.  This  was  in  1847.  Five  years  later  the  thun- 
ders of  the  British  cannon  were  again  heard  in  the  Ran- 
goon river,  and  a  British  army  was  compelled  to  vindicate 
the  rights  of  Bifitish  subjects  against  the  outrages  of  a 
government  equally  stupid  and  ferocious.  Again  Burmah 
was  dismembered,  and  the  ancient  province  of  Pegu  was 
wrested  from  her  and  annexed  to  the  English  dominions, 
which  now  almost  girdled  with  an  unbroken  chain  the  Bay 


RECONNOITERING.  263 

of  Bengal  from  Cape  Comorin  to  Malacca.  Eangoon  felt 
the  renovating  power  of  English  enterprise.  Its  harbor, 
one  of  the  finest  in  Eastern  India,  became  the  centre  of 
an  active  commerce.  Its  rows  of  native  huts  were  plowed 
through,  like  so  many  ant  hills,  by  the  streets  of  an  English 
city.  The  pledge  of  religious  protection  reinvited  the 
exiled  missionaries  ;  and  light  and  freedom  began  to 
penetrate  its  dark  and  stagnant  recesses.  But  as  yet  all 
this  was  not — and  was  not  to  be  until  Dr.  Judson  slept 
the  sleep  which  shall  know  no  waking  till  the  sea  gives 
up  its  dead.  It  lay  in  the  gripe  of  an  unrelaxed  despot- 
ism, and  under  the  heavy  cloud  of  an  idolatry  through 
which  scarcely  shimmered  some  deceitful  gleams  of  a 
foully  corrupted  Christianity,  when  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Judson 
entered  it,  and,  after  innumerable  vexations,  were  safely 
lodged  in  their  uncouth  home. 


CHAPTER    XYI. 

"BAT     CASTLE." 

"  The  heavy  rain  unceasing  falls  ; 

Winds  hurry  to  and  fro  ; 
The  damp  mould  gathers  on  the  -walls, 

So  dreary,  dark,  and  low  ; 
Dull  shadows  throng  my  aching  brow— 
My  heart  is  never  shadowed  now." 

Rangoon  !  The  cradle  of  American  Indian  missions  ! 
The  first  missionary  love  of  Dr.  Judson  and  his  last ! 
Where  he  first  knocked  with  the  message  of  life  at  the 
gates  of  the  Burman  empire,  and  whence  he  finally 
turned  away,  reluctantly  and  slowly,  like  Adam  leaving 
Paradise,  as  from  the  Eden  of  his  missionary  hopes  ! 
We  follow  our  hero  and  heroine  to  thee  now  with 
tremhling  solicitude,  fondly  hoping  that  the  set  time  to 
favor  thee  has  come,  and  that  he  who  would  so  often 
have  gathered  thy  children  beneath  the  wing  of  heavenly 
mercy  is  about  to  realize  his  life-long  aspirations.  But 
it  is  not  to  be  !  He  comes  to  thee  again,  to  be  again 
rejected.  Again  that  inscrutable  wisdom  of  Providence, 
which  mocks  the  short-sighted  impatience  of  man,  delays 
the  time  when  the  light  of  the  cross  shall  gild  the  spires 
of  thy  pagodas,  and  the  foul  orgies  of  idolatry  be  ex- 
changed for  the  blessed  rites  of  Christian  worship. 


265 

But  while  our  party  are  domiciliating  themselves  in 
"  Green  Turban's  den  ;''  while  Dr.  Judson  is  spreading 
out  his  books  and  papers  in  the  room  that  is  to  be  his 
study,  and  Emily's  tasteful  and  dexterous  fingers  are 
"  tricking"  the  dreary  apartments  into  the  show  of  civil- 
ization, let  us  lift  up  our  eyes  for  a  moment's  general 
survey. 

The  traveler  who  passes  the  Brahmaputra  from  the 
west  finds  himself  within  that  vast  territory  vaguely  de- 
fined as  India  beyond  the  Ganges.  He  has  exchanged 
the  dominion  of  Brahma  for  that  of  Buddh,  aform  of  faith 
which,  spreading  over  China,  holds  a  wider  sway  than  any 
other  religion  on  the  globe.  Of  the  immense  region  above 
designated,  stretching  through  more  than  a  thousand 
miles,  from  China  to  Siam,  the  chief  provinces,  when  first 
known  to  our  missionaries,  had  become  incorporated  into 
the  powerful  Kingdom  of  Burmah.  Arracan,  Pegu, 
Martaban,  Tenasserim  (omitting  lesser  names)  had  all, 
after  many  struggles  and  vicissitudes  of  fortune,  yielded, 
one  by  one,  to  the  hardy  valor  of  the  people  of  Ava,  and 
rendered  their  tribute  to  the  "Lord  of  the  Golden  City." 
The  vicinity  of  such  an  empire — ^haughty,  jealous, 
unscrupulous^  and  regardless  alike  of  natural  right 
and  international  law — to  the  vast  power  of  Britain 
(with  whose  territory  its  own  was  through  a  long  way 
conterminous),  made  a  collision  between  them,  sooner  or 
later,  inevitable.  It  came  in  1826.  After  repeated  de- 
mands for  redress,  insolently  refused,  a  British  army  cap- 
tured Kangoon,  and  proceeding  slowly  up  the  Irrawadi, 
annihilating  in  its  march  the  proudest  forces  of  the  em- 
pire, compelled  Burmah  to  a  humiliating  peace.  Arra- 
can, the  most  of  Martaban,  Tenasserim,  comprising  its 
entire  sea  coast  except  Pegu,  were  ceded  to  the  British, 

12 


266  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

cutting  down  its  territory  to  the  still  extensive  districts  of 
Pegu  and  Ava.  So  matters  stood  until  1853,  when  Pegu 
also,  occupying  the  fertile  delta  of  the  Irrawadi,  was 
dismembered  from  Ava ;  thus  completing  the  chain  of 
British  dominion  around  the  Bay  of  Bengal. 

Doubtless  these  fluctuations  of  Oriental  conquest  and 
subjugation  have  but  small  significance  for  the  history 
of  humanity.  The  varying  fortunes  of  these  semi-bar- 
barous races  are  but  the  shifting  of  sand  hills  in  the  de- 
sert, all  arid  and  fruitless  of  permanent  result.  King- 
doms rise  and  vanish  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision. 
Cities  fluctuate  like  empires.  Capitals  are  as  migratory 
as  the  tents  of  an  Arab  Sheik.  Like  Birnam  wood 
coming  to  Dunsinane,  a  whole  city  will  transport  itself 
almost  bodily,  and  men  take  up  their  houses  and  walk, 
almost  as  easily  as  the  healed  of  Scripture  did  their  beds. 
The  Burmese  capital  has  fluctuated  back  and  forward 
between  Amarapura  and  Ava,  and  has  recently  sought 
an  entirely  new  location.  The  most  populous  quarter 
of  Kangoon  was  burnt  up  in  a  few  hours  by  the  boiling 
over  of  a  pot  of  oil,  and  in  a  month  was  rebuilt  and  even 
more  populous  than  before  ;  and  Eangoon  itself  has 
superseded  the  "  faded  glories"  of  Pegu,  the  ancient  seat 
of  royalty.  The  savage  has  no  history  ;  semi-barbarism 
next  to  none.  Their  movements  fluctuate  in  an  eternal 
chaos  of  barren  change.  Their  institutions  crystalize  around 
no  great  moral  truths  which  give  them  permanence  and  vi- 
tality. When  civilization  comes  with  its  profound  ideas' ; 
when  agriculture  turns  deserts  into  gardens  ;  when  com- 
merce weaves  over  land  and  ocean  her  network  of  en- 
terprise ;  when  science  reveals  nature  as  a  vast  reposi- 
tory of  orderly  and  harmonious  truths  ;  when  art  fills  it 
with  creations  of  utility  and  beauty  ;  when  religion  per- 


"bat  castle."  267 

vades  it  with  the  presence  of  Grod  and  the  radiance  of 
immortality,  then  the  records  of  man  rise  to  the  dignity 
of  history. 

Kangoon  itself  lies  on  one  of  the  largest  branches  of  the 
Irrawadi,  about  seventeen  miles  from  its  mouth.  It 
stretches  about  a  mile  along  the  northern  bank  of  the 
river,  and  presents  little  that  is  attractive  in  itself  or  its 
environs.  It  "bristles  with  pagodas,"  but  tiiere  are 
no  handsome  dwelling  houses  ;  the  narrow  streets  are 
wretchedly  paved  with  brick,  and  intolerable  to  walk  on. 
And  here  our  party  are,  voluntary  exiles.  The  gates  of 
civilization  have  closed  behind  them.  They  can  scarcely 
"feel  the  stir  of  the  great  Babel,"  much  less  "hear  its  din." 
Look  northward,  and  four  hundred  miles  up  the  Irra- 
wadi  lies  Ava,  the  golden  city.  To  the  east,  nearly  a 
hundred  miles  across  the  Bay  of  Martaban,  are  gathered 
their  brethren  in  Maulmain.  Six  hundred  miles  to  the 
northwest  is  Calcutta,  the  capital  of  the  Anglo-Indian 
empire  ;  while  far  to  the  west — ^beyond  a  continent  and 
an  ocean — where  "imagination  faints  to  follow  him," 
the  sun,  that  here  sows  with  Orient  pearl  the  hills  of  the 
morning,  sheds  his  descending  beams  on  the  homes  and 
hearts  of  their  native  land. 

We  give  place  to  Mrs.  Judson  : 

TO    MISS    ANABLE. 

Eangoon,  Feb.  22, 1847. 

Thank  God,  we  are  here  at  last,  and  able  to  see  our  way 
through  to  the  end  of  present  botherations,  though  we  are  by 
no  means  through.  The  poor  Doctor  escaped  the  fever  which 
I  dreaded,  but  is  still  quite  ill  with  bowel  complaint.  He  is, 
however,  able  to  sit  in  the  custom-house,  unlocking  his  chests, 
etc.,  and  waiting  with  exemplary  patience  the  overhauling,  and 


268  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

in  some  instances,  spoiling  of  his  goods.  Amai !  amai !  You 
can  have  no  idea  of  the  impudence  of  these  wretches.  I  have 
not  seen  our  house  yet ;  but  they  are  beginning  to  get  the 
goods  which  have  passed  the  custom-house  into  it,  and  I  shall 
go  over  to-morrow.  We  came  ashore  Saturday  morning  (it  is 
Monday  now),  and  on  the  invitation  of  an  English  'captain  of  a 
schooner,  took  up  our  quarters  at  his  house.  He  is  married  to 
a  creole^ne  of  the  better  specimens  of  the  class,  and  at  least 
far  superior  to  any  thing  else  in  Rangoon.  Captain  Crisp's 
father  knew  the  Doctor  before  the  war,  and  the  son  is  very 
kind.  His  house  is  built  in  English  style,  and  is  the  best  but 
one  in  town.  But  such  a  house  !  How  you  would  stare  to  see 
it  set  down  in  Genesee  street !  It  is  very  large,  and  built  of 
brick  with  massive  walls.  The  partitions  are  of  brick,  and  the 
floors,  even  of  the  second  story,  of  brick,  thick  and  ugly  enough. 
This  is  to  prevent  fire,  for  which  the  bamboo  houses  of  the 
natives  furnish  most  charming  tinder.  The  walls  and  floors 
are  pretended  to  be  plastered  inside,  but  the  plastering  is 
thin  and  unlike  any  thing  you  see  in  America,  and,  with  the 
bricks,  is  broken  away  in  thousands  of  places.  Madam  Crisp 
has  kindly  assigned  us  a  couple  of  rooms  in  which  that  part  of 
our  luggage  and  that  of  our  servants,  which  we  were  able  to 
get  ashore  on  Saturday,  lies  in  most  glorious  confusion.  There 
are  mats  (Burmese  mats,  remember,)  spread  upon  the  uneven 
floors,  which  have  probably  lain  for  years,  for  they  are  rotted 
and  mildewed ;  and  one  of  them  in  our  sleeping-room  has  en- 
tirely disappeared,  except  the  four  tattered  corners,  leaving  the 
red  bricks  and  gray  and  white  plaster  very  prominent.  Then 
the  broken  and  mildewed  furniture  !  It  is  quite  dangerous  to 
attempt  sitting  down  on  chair  or  couch  till  you  have  examined 
into  its  capabilities ;  for  ten  to  one  the  chair  has  a  broken  leg, 
and  the  couch  a  hole  through  the  bottom,  deftly  covered  with 
a  cushion. 

You  have  no  idea  of  the  troubles  we  passed   through  in 
reaching  the  happy  state  recorded  on  the  last  page.     The  cap- 


"bat  castle/'  269 

tain  of  the  City  of  London,  a  regular  bear,  insisted  on  onr 
goods  being  taken  from  the  ship  on  Sunday,  and  it  was  in  vain 
that  the  Doctor  pleaded  both  his  principles  and  his  illness  ;  the 
ship  must  be  emptied  at  any  rate.  We  had  discovered  while 
aboard  the  reckless  character  of  the  captain,  and  the  half  mu- 
tinous state  of  the  crew.  You  may  imagine,  therefore,  our  feel- 
ings when  we  laid  down  our  weary  heads  on  Saturday  night. 
The  articles  could  be  taken  from  the  ship  without  the  Doctor's 
presence,  but  thence  they  would  be  conveyed  to  the  custom- 
house, and  he  must  be  there  if  ever  so  ill.  He  was  in  great 
pain  and  very  weak ;  but  at  last  he  said,  "  Why  need  we  be 
troubled  ?  To-morrow  is  peculiarly  God's  own  day,  and  He 
will  take  care  of  it."  He  seemed  to  receive  from  this  a  little 
comfort,  and  before  morning  had  a  refreshing  sleep.  About 
day-light  the  captain  came  in  to  say  that  the  goods  might  re- 
main in  the  ship.  "  But  why  ?  You  said  yesterday  that  th-ey 
could  not  remain."  "The  truth  is,  sir,  my  boys  are  bad  fel- 
lows; they  say  they  have  worked  three  Sundays  and  wont  work 
to-day,  and  I  can't  make  them."  We  suppose  that  the  wretches, 
wicked  as  they  are,  yet  had  kind  feeling  enough  to  take  this 
stand  for  our  sakes ;  for  though  we  could  have  no  communi- 
cation with  them,  we  dispensed  some  smiles,  and  smiles  are 
rare  things  among  them,  poor  fellows.  And  now  how  do  you 
think  I   spent   the   half  hour  before  commencing  this  page  ? 

Why,  in  the  very  important  business  of  teaching  Master • 

to  put  on  and  tie  his  own  shoes.  Not  that  he  is  so  brave  as 
aheady  to  have  learned  the  lesson,  but  he  has  made  a  very 
respectable  beginning.  The  children  in  this  country  are  ruined 
by  domineering  over  servants,  and  I  am  determined  to  save 
mine  from  such  a  curse.  I  will  teach  them  to  help  themselves, 
and  to  treat  servants  properly,  if  it  requires  my  whole  time. 
My  nurse  has  a  little  girl  who  is  so  accustomed  to  be  knocked 
about  that  she  never  thinks  of  defending  herself  from  a  white 
child.  I  put  a  stop  to  all  such  proceedings  for  my  children's 
sakes. 


270  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

February  23.  We  had  grand  good  luck  yesterday.  The  Dr. 
dispensed  presents  right  and  left  at  the  custom-house,  and  be- 
fore dark  his  goods  were  all  throuof-h.  As  soon  as  breakfast 
is  over,  I  am  going  to  help  put  things  in  proper  trim.  We 
shall  sleep  there  to-night.  I  went  to  see  the  house  last  night, 
but  reserve  the  description  until  we  are  settled  in  it.     .     .     . 

TO    HER    SISTER. 

Bat  Castle  (Rangoon),  March  15, 1847, 

Dear  Kitty, — 

I  write  you  from  walls  as  massive  as  any  you  read  of  in  old 
stories  and  a  great  deal  uglier — the  very  eye-ball  and  heart-core 
of  an  old  white-bearded  Mussulman.  Think  of  me  in  an  im- 
mense brick  house  with  rooms  as  large  as  the  entire  "  loggery,". 
(our  centre  room  is  twice  as  large,  and  has  no  window),  and 
only  one  small  window  apiece.  When  I  speak  of  windows,  do 
not  think  I  make  any  allusion  to  glass — of  course  not.  The 
windows  (holes)  are  closed  by  means  of  heavy  board  or  plank 
shutters,  tinned  over  on  the  outside,  as  a  preventive  "of  fire. 
The  bamboo  houses  of  the  natives  here  are  like  flax  or  tinder, 
and  the  foreigners,  who  have  more  than  the  one  cloth  which 
Burmans  wrap  about  the  body,  and  the  mat  they  sleep  on,  dare 
live  in  nothing  but  brick.  Imagine  us,  then,  on  the  second  floor 
of  this  immense  den,  with  nine  rooms  at  our  command,  the  small- 
est of  which  (bathing-room  and  a  kind  of  pantry)  are,  I  think, 
quite  as  large  as  your  dining-room,  and  the  rest  very  much  larger. 
Part  of  the  floors  are  of  brick,  and  part  of  boards ;  but  old  "  Green 
Turban  "  white-washed  them  all,  with  the  walls,  before  we  came, 
because  the  Doctor  told  him,  when  he  was  over  here,  that  he 
must  "  make  the  house  shine  for  madam."  He  did  make  it 
shine  with  a  vengeance,  between  white-washing  and  greasing. 
They  oil  furniture  in  this  country,  as  Americans  do  mahogany ; 
but  all  his  doors  and  other  wood-work  wereijaii'ly  dripping,  and 
we  have  not  got  rid  of  the  smell  yet ;  nor,  with  all  our  rubbing, 
is  it  quite  safe  to  hold  too  long  on  the  door.     The  partitions 


"BAT   CASTLE."  271 

are  all  of  brick,  and  very  thick,  and  the  door-sills  are  built  up, 
so  that  I  go  over  them  at  three  or  four  steps,  Henry  mounts 
and  falls  off,  and  Edward  gets  on  all-fours,  and  accomplishes 
the  pass  with  more  safety.  The  floor  overhead  is  quite  low, 
and  the  beams,  which  are  frequent,  afford  shelter  to  thousands 
and  thousands  of  bats,  that  disturb  us  in  the  day-time  only  by 
a  little  cricket-like  music,  but  in  the  night— Oh,  if  you  could 
only  hear  them  carouse !  The  mosquito  curtains  are  our  only 
safe-guard;  and  getting  up  is  horrible.  The  other  night  I 
awoke  faint,  with  a  feeling  of  suffocation ;  and  without  waiting 
to  think,  jumped  out  on  the  floor.  You  would  have  thought 
"  old  Nick  "  himself  had  come  after  you,  for,  of  course,  you  be- 
lieve these  firm  friends  of  the  ladies  of  the  broom-stick  incipient 
imps.  If  there  is  nothing  wickeder  about  them  than  about 
the  little  sparrows  that  come  in  immense  swarms  to  the  same 
beams,  pray  what  do  they  do  all  through  the  hours  of  darkness, 
and  why  do  they  circle  and  whizz  about  a  poor  mortal's  head, 
flap  their  villainous  wings  in  one's  face,  and  then  whisk  away, 
as  if  snickering  at  the  annoyance  ?  We  have  had  men  at  work 
nearly  a  week  trying  to  thin  them  out,  and  have  killed  a  great 
many  hundreds,  but  I  suppose  their  little  demoniac  souls  come 
back,  each  with  an  attendant,  for  I  am  sure  there  are  twice  as 
many  as  at  first.*  Every  thing,  walls,  tables,  chairs,  etc.,  are 
stained  by  them.  Besides  the  bats,  we  are  blessed  with  our 
full  share  of  cockroaches,  beetles,  spiders,  lizards,  rats,  ants,  mos- 
quitoes, and  bed-bugs.  With  the  last  the  wood-work  is  all 
alive,  and  the  ants  troop  over  the  house  in  great  droves,  though 
there  are  scattering  ones  beside.     Perhaps  twenty  have  crossed 

*  The  following,  from  a  letter  of  March  2d,  is  Dr.  Judson's  amusing  ac- 
count of  the  state  of  matters  between  the  different  claimants  of  "  Bat 
Castle,"  and  the  opening  operations  in  his  war  of  extermination. 

"We  have  had  a  grand  bat  hunt  yesterday  and  to-day — bagged  two 
hundred  and  fifty,  and  calculate  to  make  up  a  round  thousand  before  we 
have  done.  "We  find  that  in  hiring  the  upper  story  of  this  den,  we  secured 
the  lower  moiety  only,  the  upper  moiety  thereof  being  preoccupied  by  a 


272  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

my  paper  since  I  have  been  writing.  Only  one  cockroacli  has 
paid  me  a  visit,  but  the  neglect  of  these  gentlemen  has  been 
fiilly  made  up  by  a  company  of  black  bugs  about  the  size  of  the 
end  of  your  little  finger — nameless  adventurers.     .     .     . 

Emily. 

Such  was  "  Bat  Castle/'  of  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Judson 
became  temporary  occupants  ;  and  they  now  addressed 
themselves  to  their  respective  labors.  Forbidden  to  act 
in  his  proper  vocation  as  a  missionary,  and  meeting  the 
few  disciples  who  still  lingered  in  the  town,  and  the  few 
inquirers  whom  his  presence  attracted,  only  by  stealth, 
Dr.  Judson  addressed  himself  with  characteristic  energy 
to  the  preparation  of  his  dictionary,  to  which,  after  the 
completed  translation  of  the  Bible,  he  now  reluctantly 
gave  his  chief  labor.  Mrs.  Judson  found  ample  employ- 
ment in  the  care  of  the  family,  the  learning  of  the  lan- 
guage, and  then  in  the  preparation  of  the  memoir*  of 
Mrs.  Sarah  B.  Judson,  which  she  had  been  waiting  the 
favorable  moment  to  commence.  It  proves  strikingly  her 
power  of  literary  execution,  that  while  confined  to  the 
bed  much  of  the  day  from  illness,  and  amidst  the  mani- 
fold cares  of  house-keeping  (which  she  never  neglected), 
she  yet  completed  this  work  in  six  weeks  after  commencing 
the  examination  of  the  papers;  and  equally  her  conscien- 
tious fidelity  that  she  subsequently  gave  as  much  labor 

thriving  colony  of  vagabonds,  "who  flare  up  through  the  night  with  a  ven- 
geance, and  the  sound  of  their  wings  is  as  the  sound  of  many  waters,  yea, 
as  the  sound  of  your  boasted  Yankee  Niagara ;  so  that  sleep  departs  from 
our  eyes  and  slumber  from  our  eyehds.  But  we  are  reading  them  some 
lessons  which  we  hope  will  be  profitable  to  all  parties  concerned,  and  re- 
main, 

"  Yours  affectionately, 

"A.  Judson." 


"bat  castle."  273 

more  to  the  preparation  of  one  or  two  brief  notes  in 
the  appendix.  It  was  a  labor  of  love — the  sketch  of 
a  character  eminently  beautiful  in  itself,  and  rendered 
doubly  interesting  by  its  relation  to  two  such  men  as 
Boardman  and  Judson.  The  work  is  written  with  great 
spirit  and  beauty.  It  is  a  worthy  tribute  paid  by  a 
woman  of  genius  to  another  woman,  not  indeed  her 
equal  in  genius,  but  her  equal  in  womanly  graces,  and 
her  superior  in  Christian  consecration.  It  was  regarded 
by  some  as  marked  too  much  by  the  sparkling  manner 
of  her  magazine  sketches,  and  wanting  in  the  gravity 
which  befits  a  record  of  Christian  toil  and  self-denial. 
The  adoption  of  this  style,  however,  was  matter  of 
deliberate  purpose  on  the  part  of  the  biographer.  She 
hoped  that  her  peculiar  literary  reputation  might  win 
for  her  a  class  of  readers  not  hitherto  interested  in  mis- 
sionary literature ;  and  the  style  which  could  fascinate 
the  world  when  employed  on  themes  of  fiction,  might, 
she  deemed,  be  equally  legitimate  and  attractive  in  the 
scarcely  less  veritable  romance  of  a  missionary  heroine's 
biography.  Hence  she  difi'used  over  her  pages  the  viva- 
cious features  of  her  "  Fanny  Forester"  sketches,  and 
adorned  its  title  page  with  that  popular  soubriquet. 
Her  husband  concurred  in  her  view,  and  the  wide  sale  of 
the  work,  of  which  edition  after  edition  was  rapidly  ex- 
hausted, practically  at  least  confirmed  their  judgment. 
March  27,  Mrs.  Judson  writes  thus  to  Miss  Lilly- 
bridge  : 

"I  wrote  you  a  little  while  ago  that  I  was  going  on  with  the 
language  swimmingly,  and  now  you  will  be  surprised  to  hear 
that  I  study  only  between  seven  and  eight  in  the  morning,  and 
that  by  no  means  every  day.     My  plan  was  to  study  during  the 

12* 


274  LIFE    OF   MRS.   EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

day  (-what  time  I  could  spare  from  family  cares),  and  write  in 
the  evening.  Accordingly  I  began  collecting  my  papers  for  the 
memoir ;  but  before  I  had  fairly  entered  upon  my  course  my 
health  failed  from  too  close  application.  I  must  abandon  either 
the  study  or  the  memoir,  and  so  the  former  is  waiting,  as  the 
latter,  if  delayed,  would  be  too  late.  Writing  always  affected 
my  nervous  system,  and  writing  and  study  together  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  practice." 

I  proceed  with  extracts  from  the  letters  of  Mrs.  Jud- 
son : 

rO    HER    SISTER. 

Rangoon,  May  30, 184T. 

My  Dear  Katy, — 

We  are  in  a  charming  coil  just  now,  and  though  it  is  Sab- 
bath day,  have  had  no  worship  in  Burmese.  Night  before  last 
we  had  secret  information  that  the  Ray-Woon  had  ordered  our 
house  to  be  watched ;  and  but  for  that  information,  before  this 
time  (for  it  is  evening)  our  assembly  of  Christians  would  have 
been  shut  up  in  prison,  suffering  the  lash,  the  stocks,  or  even 
worse  torture.  The  Ray-Woon  is  a  very  cruel  man,  and  it  is 
said  that  the  screams  of  poor  tortured  wretches  are  heard  almost 
incessantly,  night  and  day,  to  issue  from  his  house.  He  is  the 
second  in  power,  but  the  Governor  is  a  weak  man,  over  seventy 
years  of  age — a  regular  old  woman  in  "  hose  and  doublet" — 
patso  and  goung-boung,  I  mean.  The  man  whom  the  Doctor 
baptized  came  in  with  his  father-in-law.  One  of  our  people 
met  them  on  the  way  and  told  them  of  the  danger,  but  they 
were  anxious  to  come,  and  managed  to  provide  against  it.  The 
old  man  asked  baptism  for  his  son,  a  fine  fellow  about  twenty, 
and  the  young  man  made  known  his  wish  to  go  over  to  Maul- 
main  and  prepare  to  preach.  The  Doctor  came  to  my  room, 
after  they  were  gone,  all  animation ;  but  he  is  sad  again 
now.     .     .     . 

May  31.     Last  night,  after  trying  in  vain  to  comfort  my 


275 

poor  husband,  as  he  walked  with  clouded  face  up  and  down  my 
room,  by  saying  that  God  would  take  care  of  His  own  cause, 
etc.,  all  of  which  he  of  course  understands  and  feels  more  than 
I  do,  I  was  obliged  to  give  up  and  sit  down  in  silence.  At  last 
I  turned  suddenly  to  him,  and  inquired,  "  Would  you  like  to 
know  the  first  couplet  that  I  ever  learned  to  repeat  ?"  I  suppose 
he  thought  I  was  trifling,  for  he  only  turned  his  head,  and  said 
nothing.  "  I  learned  it,"  continued  I  "  before  I  could  read,  and 
I  afterwards  used  to  write  it  every  where — sometimes,  even,  at 
the  top  of  the  page,  when  I  was  preparing  the  story  on  whose 
success  more  depended  than  its  readers  ever  dreamed."  I  had 
gained  his  attention.     "What  was  it?"  he  inquired. 

"  Beware  of  desperate  steps ;  the  darkest  day, 
(Live  till  to-morrow,)  will  have  passed  away." 

"  I  declare,"  said  he  with  energy,  and  his  whole  face  bright- 
ening, "  if  I  could  only  believe  in  transmigration,  I  should  have 
no  doubt  that  we  had  spent  ages  together  in  some  other  sphere, 
we  are  so  alike  in  every  thing.  Why,  those  two  lines  have  been 
my  motto ;  I  used  to  repeat  them  over  and  over  in  prison,  and 
I  have  them  now,  written  on  a  slip  of  paper,  for  a  book-mark." 
He  stood  a  few  moments,  thinking  and  smiling,  and  then  said, 
"  Well,  one  thing  you  didn't  do  :  you  never  wrote  '  Pray  with- 
out ceasing'  on  the  cover  of  your  wafer  box."  "  No ;  but  I 
wrote  it  on  my  looking-glass."  This  furnished  one  of  our 
never-ending  subjects,  and  we  chatted  away  almost  as  cheer- 
fully as  if  there  had  been  no  Vesuvius  under  our  feet.     .     .     . 

June  2.  Just  one  year  to-day  since  I  stood  before  good 
old  Doctor  Kendrick,  and  said  the  irrevocable  "  love,  honor, 
and  obey."  It  was  on  many  accounts  a  day  of  darkness,  but  it 
has  dragged  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  very  light  ones  at  its 
heels.  It  has  been  far  the  happiest  year  of  my  life;  and,  what 
is  in  my  eyes  still  more  important,  my  husband  says  it  has  been 
among  the  happiest  of  his.  We  have  been  in  circumstances  to 
be  almost  constantly  together ;  and  I  never  met  with  any  man 


276  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

who  could  talk  so  well,  day  after  day,  on  every  subject,  religious, 
literary,  scientific,  political,  and — and  nice  baby-talk.  He  has  a 
mind  which  seems  exhaustless,  and  so,  even  here  in  Rangoon, 
where  all  the  English  I  hear,  from  week's  end  to  week's  end,  is 
from  him,  I  never  think  of  wanting  more  society.  I  have  been 
ill  a  great  deal,  but  not  in  a  way  to  hinder  him  ;  and  he  treats 
me  as  gently  and  tenderly  as  though  I  were  an  infant.    .     .     . 

As  for  living,  I  must  own  that  I  am  within  an  inch  of  starva- 
tion, and  poor  little  Henry  says,  when  he  sits  down  to  the  table, 
"I  don't  want  any  dinner — I  wish  we  could  go  back  to  Maul- 
main."  His  papa  does  better,  for  he  never  has  a  poor  appetite. 
For  a  long  time  after  we  first  came  here,  we  could  get  no  bread 
at  all ;  now  we  get  a  heavy,  black,  sour  kind,  for  which  we  pay 
just  three  times  as  much  as  we  did  at  Maulmain.  You  will 
say  "  Make  it."  What  shall  I  make  it  of?  or  a  biscuit,  or  pie, 
or  any  thing  good  ?  And  when  it  is  made  of  nothing,  what 
shall  I  bake  it  in  ? 

Our  milk  is  a  mixture  of  buffaloes'  milk,  water,  and  something 
else  which  we  cannot  make  out.  We  have  changed  our  milk- 
woman  several  times,  but  it  does  no  good.  The  butter  we 
make  from  it  is  like  lard  with  flakes  of  tallow.  But  it  is  use- 
less to  write  about  these  things — you  can  get  no  idea.  I  must 
tell  you,  however,  of  the  grand  dinner  we  had  one  day.  "  You 
must  contrive  and  get  something  that  mamma  can  eat,"  the  doc- 
tor said  to  our  Burmese  purveyor ;  "  she  will  starve  to  death." 
"What  shall  I  get?"  "Anything."  "Anything?"  "Any- 
thing." Well,  we  did  have  a  capital  dinner,  though  we  tried 
in  vain  to  find  out  by  the  bones  what  it  was.  Henry  said  it 
was  touk-tahs,  a  species  of  lizard,  and  I  should  have  thought  so 
too,  if  the  little  animal  had  been  of  a  fleshy  consistence.  Cook 
said  he  didnH  know,  but  he  grinned  a  horrible  grin  which  made 
my  stomach  heave  a  little,  notwithstanding  the  deliciousness  of 
the  meal.  In  the  evening  we  called  Mr.  Bazaar-man.  "  What 
did  we  have  for  dinner  to-day  ?"  "  Were  they  good  ?"  "Excel- 
lent."    A  tremendous  explosion  of  laughter,  in  which  the  cook 


"bat  castle."  ,  277 

from  his  dish  room  joined  as  loud  as  he  dared.  "What  were 
they  ?"  "  Rats  /"  A  common  servant  would  not  have  played 
such  a  trick,  but  it  was  one  of  the  doctor's  assistants  who  goes 
to  bazaar  for  us.  You  know  the  Chinese  consider  rats  a  great 
delicacy,*  and  he  bought  them  at  one  of  their  shops. 

As  for  the  house,  it  was  very  comfortable  during  the  hot 
weather,  for  there  is  a  brick  floor  overhead,  but  we  suffer  very 
much  since  the  coming  on  of  the  rains.  "We  are  obliged  to  get 
directly  before  the  window  in  order  to  see,  and  we  suffer  unac- 
countably from  the  damp  air.  We  frequently  shut  all  up,  and 
light  candles  at  noon.  The  doctor  has  severe  rheumatism  in 
his  writing  shoulder  and  constant  headache,  but  his  lungs  do 
not  trouble  him  so  much  as  during  the  first  storms.  For  my- 
self, I  am  utterly  prostrated ;  and,  although  I  have  taken  care 
of  everything  and  written  a  Httle,  I  have  not  sat  up  an  hour  at 
a  time  for  six  weeks.  I  have  my  table  by  my  couch  and  write 
a  few  lines,  and  then  lie  down.  The  wooden  ceiling  overhead 
is  covered  with  a  kind  of  green  mould,  and  the  doors  get  the 
same  way  in  two  days  if  they  are  not  carefully  rubbed.  Now, 
do  you  think  I  am  in  any  way  discontented,  and  would  go  back 
to  America  to  live  in  a  palace  ?  Not  I.  I  am  ten  times  happier 
than  I  could  be  there.  .  .  .  And  then  we  are  so,  so  happy  in 
each  other.  .  .  .  We  are  frequently  startled  by  echoing  each 
others  unspoken  thoughts,  and  we  believe  alike  in  everything. 
You  know  I  have  always  scolded,  because  nobody — minister  nor 
people — was  really  orthodox  in  religious  opinion.  Well,  he  is 
strictly  and  thoroughly  orthodox.  At  first  I  was  a  little  an- 
noyed by  what  seemed  to  nffe  a  taint  of  Guionism,  Oberlinism,  or 
something  of  that  sort.  I  said  nothing,  however,  but  took  to 
reading  all  those  books  with  him,  "  for  information."  We  went 
through  all  the  numbers  of  the  Methodist  "  Perfectionist ;"  took 

*  So  it  is  said,  and  this  story  seems  to  lend  credit  to  the  saying.  But 
"Williams  indignantly  denies  it  as  a  general  fact. — Vide  Middle  Kingdom^ 

a.  47. 


278  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

story  after  story  and  weighed  it  with  the  Bible  and  common 
sense ;  then  we  sifted  TJpham  thoroughly,  through  all  his  grow- 
ing and  tiresome  heaviness ;  and  last  of  all,  took  up  Madame 
Guion.  This  last  is  really  disgusting,  and  I  consider  her  quite 
as  much  a  patient  for  Dr.  Brigham  as  Joan  of  Arc  or  any  other 
monomaniac,  though  I  believe,  notwithstanding  her  very  apparent 
unamiability,  she  had  grace.  Well,  the  amount  of  all  is,  we 
agree  perfectly  on  all  these  topics.     ... 


TO    MISS    C.    SHELDON. 

Kangoon,  June  16, 1847. 

Trouble  on  trouble — trouble  on  trouble  !  You  could  scarce 
imagine,  dear  aunt  Cynthia,  people  in  a  worse  condition  than 
we  are  now.  Last  Saturday  evening  Dr.  J.  came  into  my  room 
with  red  eyes  and  a  voice  all  temulous  with  weeping.  "  We  must 
be  at  the  worst  now,"  he  said ;  "  and  in  all  my  troubles  in  this 
dreadful  country,  I  never  before  looked  on  so  discouraging  a 
prospect.  We  are  hunted  down  here  like  wild  beasts ;  watched 
by  government  and  plotted  against  by  Catholic  priests.  The 
churches  at  home  have  made  no  provision  for  our  going  to  Ava, 
the  governor  is  importuned  to  send  us  out  of  the  country,  the 
monsoon  is  raging,  and  we  could  not  go  to  Maulmain  if  we 
wished,  and  you  are  failing  every  day — it  seems  to  me  dying 
before  my  eyes — without  the  possibility  of  obtaining  either 
medicines  or  a  physician."  It  was  all  true  except  the  last.  I 
have  suffered  severely  from  the  rain,  but  people  like  me  "  die" 
too  many  times  to  be  much  alarmedi^by  anything  that  comes  upon 
themselves.  But  it  is  a  very  sickly  time,  almost  everybody  is 
ill,  and  funeral  processions  pass  our  house  every  day.  There 
has  been  of  late  a  funeral  feast  in  nearly  every  house  in  our 
neighborhood,  and  the  constant  tap-t^p  of  nailing  up  coflSns  in 
the  night  is  dreadful. 

I  was  speaking  of  Saturday  evening.  That  same  night  Dr. 
J.  was  seized  with  terrible  pains  in  the  bowels,  etc.,  which  he 


279 

thought  was  diarrhoea.  On  Sunday  he  took  laudanum  injec- 
tions, and  was  easier  ;  but  in  the  night  the  disease  showed  itself 
a  dysentery  of  the  worst  form  which  we  could  find  in  our  books. 
He  had  never  had  it  before,  either  himself  or  in  his  family,  and  was 
utterly  at  a  loss  to  know  how  to  treat  it.  No  two  books  agreed, 
and  you  know  there  is  no  medical  adviser  in  the  place.  I  beg- 
ged him  to  take  calomel,  and  he  would  have  administered  it  to 
any  other  person,  but  in  his  own  case  he  procrastinated.  He 
has  taken  various  medicines,  and  thus  checked  the  disease ; 
but  last  night  (to-day  is  Friday)  he  became  alarmed,  and  for 
the  first  time  took  a  dose  of  rhubarb  and  calomel.  I  am  afraid, 
however,  it  is  too  late,  for  he  is  in  a  terrible  condition  this 
morning.  The  last  resort  is  a  sea  voyage,  which  at  this  season 
of  the  year  is  a  desperate  thing.  Nothing  goes  from  this  port 
but  little  native  vessels,  with  no  accommodations  for  a  well 
man,  much  less  a  sick  one ;  and  they  are  frequently  wrecked. 
It  would  be  utterly  impossible  to  find  one  large  enough  to  take 
in  me  and  the  children  (the  latter  must,  of  course,  go  where  I 
do),  and  if  he  goes  alone,  I  think  of  the  terrible  suspense  which 
awaits  me  for  four,  five,  or  six  weeks,  and  the  sufi'erings  to 
which  he  must  be  exposed.  He  says  only  a  matter  of  life  and 
death  could  induce  him  to  leave  me  with  the  children,  and  the 
people  who  are  only  children  of  larger  growth,  in  my  present 
condition.  (I  do  not  sit  up  an  hour  at  a  time.)  If  he  goes,  he 
must  take  our  most  intelligent  man,  but  he,  alas !  is  a  most 
indifferent  nurse. 

Yours,  etc., 
By  "  too  late,"  I  meant  too  late   for  any  thing  but  a  sea 
voyage  ;  of  that  we  have  strong  hopes. 

TO    MISS    ANABLE. 

(Continued  from: Miss  C.^s,  about  an  hour  later.) 
Dear  Anna  Maria, — 

The  Doctor  is  awake,  but  we  can  not  tell  yet  whether  he 
is  better  or  worse.     He  is  evidently  passing  a  crisis  of  some 


280  LIFE   OF  MRS.   EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

sort.  The  music  and  mourners  have  set  up  their  screeching 
and  howling  at  a  house  nearly  opposite,  and  men  are  busy 
decorating  the  funeral  car  in  the  streets.  We  seem  to  be  hem- 
med in  by  death.  Suppose  it  should  come  here ;  there  would 
be  only  servants  to  bury  the  dead !  Something  is  the  matter 
with  Edward.  He  was  wakeful  all  night,  and  this  morning  he 
streams  out  suddenly  when  at  his  play  as  in  pain,  and  runs  to 
me  as  fast  as  he  can.  Poor  little  fellow  !  he  can  not  tell  his 
trouble.  I  have  just  quieted  bim,  and  take  the  moment  to 
write  while  his  head  lies  in  my  lap. 

Saturday,  The  Doctor  says  "  the  back-bone  of  his  disease  is 
broken."  If  it  is,  I  am  afraid  there  are  two  back-bones,  for  I 
think  I  never  knew  a  person  suffer  so  severely.  I  have  made 
Henry  a  little  bed  on  the  floor,  and  he  is  groaning  in  a  burning 
fever.  If  he  is  ill  he  will  be  very  troublesome.  •  I  have  given 
him  a  powerful  medicine,  and  may  get  the  start  of  the  disease ; 
it  is  Rangoon  fever ;  he  was  seized  suddenly  and  violently.  Ed- 
ward, also,  was  troubled  some  in  the  night,  and  acts  as  strangely 
as  yesterday.  He  scarcely  ever  cries,  yet  screams  seem  forced 
from  him  as  by  a  sudden  blow.  He  runs  to  me,  but  recovers 
in  a  moment,  and  goes  back  to  play.  There  is  something 
very  alarming  in  this,  knowing  the  brave  little  fellow's  disposi- 
tion as  I  do. 

Sunday  Eve.  It  is  out  at  last.  Edward  awoke  this  morning, 
his  face  so  swollen  that  his  eyes  are  nearly  closed,  shining,  and 
spotted  purplish.  We  could  not  imagine  what  was  the  matter, 
but  he  was  very  feverish,  and  I  knew  he  must  have  something 
immediately.  I  consulted  the  Doctor  and  my  Burman  woman, 
but  neither  of  them  could  give  me  the  slightest  inkling  of  the 
disease. 

July  1.  I  was  interrupted  suddenly  by  my  invalids  while 
writing  the  above  sentence ;  since  then  I  have  had  as  much 
trouble  as  my  worst  enemy  could  wish.  I  was  about  telling 
you  that  I  gave  Edward  a  dose  of  calomel  at  a  venture  in  the 
morning,  and  that  in  the  afternoon  I  thought  of  poor  F — ,  and 


"bat  castle."  281 

decided  that  the  disease  was  erysipelas.  The  fever  had  by  this 
time  abated,  and  the  spots  on  his  face  become  red,  instead  of 
purple.  I  think  my  dose  of  calomel  saved  his  life.  I  searched 
all  my  books  and  gave  gentle  remedies  afterward  ;  but  the  sweet 
little  fellow  is  still  a  great  sufferer.  Both  the  Doctor  and 
Henry  were  better  that  day.  I  went  to  bed  late  at  night  with 
one  of  my  very  worst  nervous  headaches.  I  was  awakened 
from  troubled  sleep  by  Edward's  screams ;  but  as  soon  as  I 
raised  my  head  I  seemed  to  be  caught  by  a  whirlwind,  and 
fell  back  helpless.  As  soon  as  possible  I  made  another  at- 
tempt, and  this  time  reached  the  middle  of  the  room,  where 
I  fell  headlong.  I  did  not  venture  on  my  feet  again,  but  crept 
to  the  bed  on  my  hands  and  feet,  and  finally  succeeded  in 
soothing  him.  All  this  time  the  Doctor  was  groaning  ter- 
ribly, and  he  managed  between  his  groans  to  tell  me  that  he 
was  in  even  greater  agony  than  when  he  was  first  seized.  I 
was  unable  to  do  any  thing  for  him,  however,  and  so  crawled 
over  to  Henry's  cot.  Oh,  the  predicament  that  he  was  in ! 
.  .  .  I  expected  that  both  Edward  and  the  Doctor  would 
die,  and  you  may  imagine  that  I  had  one  long  cry  before  I 
began  to  contrive  what  I  should  do  in  case  the  worst  should 
come.  The  vessel  had  gone  off  to  Maulmain  that  very  day, 
and  it  would  be  at  least  a  week  before  another  would  sail.  The 
amount  of  the  whole  is,  that  the  Doctor  had  a  most  dangerous 
relapse,  from  which  he  has  not  yet  recovered,  though  probably 
out  of  danger.  Henry  is  left  a  pale,  puny  child,  without  ap- 
petite ;  and  poor  Edward,  really  the  greatest  sufferer,  is  still  in 
an  alarming  situation.  There  is  an  abscess  in  his  forehead  and 
the  acrid  matter  has  eaten  back  into  the  bone,  we  can  not  tell 
how  far ;  there  is  another  immense  one  on  the  back  of  the 
head  in  a  shocking  state,  and  two  lesser  ones  on  his  neck.  We 
read  our  books  and  do  the  best  we  can ;  and  are  very  grateful 
that  we  can  keep  the  fever  off,  and  that  with  this  open  house 
and  damp  air  he  does  not  take  cold.  He  is  the  loveliest  child 
that  I  ever  saw ;  there  is  something  which  seems  to  me  angelic 


282  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

in  his  patience  and  calmness.  He  could  not  help  crying  when 
his  papa  lanced  his  head ;  but  the  moment  the  sharpest  pain 
was  over,  he  nestled  down  in  my  bosom,  and  though  quivering 
all  over,  he  kept  lifting  his  eyes  to  my  face,  and  trying  to 
smile,  oh,  so  sweetly !  He  watched  his  papa  while  he  sharp- 
ened the  lancet  to  open  another,  and  when  it  was  ready,  turned 
and  laid  his  little  head  on  his  knee  of  his  own  accord.  Just 
when  we  were  at  the  worst  my  nurse  was  taken  ill  with  fever. 
She  had  it  lightly,  however,  so  that  her  husband  (my  cook) 
took  care  of  her,  instead  of  burdening  me  with  another  patient. 
You  will  say  that  I  write  of  nothing  but  my  husband  and  chil- 
dren.    Of  course  not ;  I  think  of  nothing  else. 

Nemmt. 

sketches  of  scenes  in  rangoon. 

WRITTEN  PKOM  MATJLMAIN. 

Mr  Dear  Mr.  Bright, — 

.  .  .  I  do  not  know  whether  others  find  the  sight  of 
eastern  scenery  and  eastern  men  awakens  fresh  interest  in  the 
narrative  part  of  the  word  of  God  ;  but  really  I  would  come  all 
the  way  from  America  for  the  sake  of  reading  the  Bible  with 
my  new  eyes. 

"  I  have  seen  all  this  before !"  was  a  feeling  that  flashed  upon 
me  more  frequently  at  Rangoon  than  here,  producing  a  mo- 
mentary confusion  of  intellect,  that  almost  made  me  doubt  if 
"I  was  I;"  and  then  came  the  reflections,  when? — how! — 
where  ?  and  finally  it  would  creep  into  my  mind;  why  I  learned 
about  it  in  Sabbath  school  when  I  was  a  little  child.  The  eflfect 
was  to  annihilate  time  and  bring  the  days  of  the  Saviour  very 
near ;  and  the  strength  of  the  ideal  presence  has  been  by  no 
means  unprofitable  to  me. 

But  there  were  peculiarities  in  my  situation  which  I  think  I 
have  never  yet  mentioned.  There  I  was  in  the  identical  town 
of  which  I  had  read  with  such  eager  curiosity  when  I  was  a 
little  child  away  in  the  central  part  of  New  York  ;  and  which 
then  seemed  to  me  about  as  real  as  a  city  belonging  to  the 

O 


"bat  castle."  283 

moon.  And  stranger  still,  I  was  actually  associated  with  one 
of  the  movers  in  scenes,  the  bare  recital  of  which  had,  in 
years  gone  by,  thrilled  on  my  nerves  with  greater  power  than 
the  wildest  fiction.  Oh,  how  memory,  and  imagination,  and 
various  strangely  mingled  emotions  wrought  together  in  my 
mind,  when  I  looked  upon  all  that  remained  of  that  in  which 
the  first  words  of  life  that  Burmah  ever  heard  were  spoken  more 
than  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago.  And  you  will  readily  be- 
lieve that  the  baptismal  waters  which  were  parted  by  the  first 
convert  from  this  nation  were  to  my  eye  unlike  any  other 
waters  in  the  world.  I  could  not,  if  I  were  to  attempt  it,  give 
you  any  thing  like  an  insight  into  my  feelings  as  I  stood  under 
the  shadow  of  the  cocoa  and  lime  trees  on  the  banks  of  that 
beautiful  pool,  and  gazed  down  into  the  clear  waters.  How  an- 
gels must  have  rejoiced  over  that  penitent !  the  first  link  in  a 
precious  chain  which  is  to  reach  down  to  the  remotest  times ! 

With  a  similar^  dreaming,  wondering  feeling,  as  though  walk- 
ing among  shadows  and  skeletons,  I  wandered  about  the 
grounds  occupied  by  the  old  mission  house.  The  building  was 
torn  down  after  the  war,  and  the  place  is  now  covered  by  a  gar- 
den of  betel,  so  thickly  planted  that  it  was  with  great  difficulty 
we  could  make  our  way  among  the  long  creepers  which  had 
climbed  far  above  our  heads.  This  self-same  soil  had  once  been 
trodden  by  feet  elastic  with  youth  and  vigor,  and  bounding  with 
such  hopes  as  God  grants  to  those  who  trust  their  all  to  Him. 

"  The  house  must  have  been  somewhere  here,"  remarked  one 
of  those  beings  of  the  past  (not  a  shadow),  close  at  my  elbow ; 
"  that  mound  was  the  site  of  an  old  pagoda,  and  I  leveled  it  as 
you  see.  But  there  is  a  nice  well  somewhere — that  will  be  a 
sure  mark." 

A  plainly  dressed,  sober  faced,  middle  aged  Burman  had  been 
regarding  our  movements  for  some  time  with  curiosity,  and  he 
now  ventured  on  a  remark. 

"  I  am  looking  for  a  good  well  from  which  I  drank  water 
many  years  ago,"  was  the  reply.  "  It  was  close  by  my  house, 
and  was  bricked  up." 


284  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

"Your  Louse!"  repeated  the  man  with  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  I  lived  here  formerly." 

The  Burman  turned  his  eye  on  the  tall  betel  vines  with  a 
kind  of  wondering  incredulity  ;  and  then  back  upon  our  faces. 

"  It  was  in  the  reign  of  Bo-dan-parah  (the  fourth  king  from 
the  present  reigning  monarch). 

If,  my  dear  Mr.  Bright,  some  modern  looking  personage 
should  walk  into  your  parlor  and  announce  himself  as  the 
"Wandering  Jew,"  I  doubt  whether  your  smile  and  shrug 
would  be  quite  so  significant  as  were  those  of  our  new  friend. 
There  was  the  well,  however,  a  proof  against  imposture;  and 
the  next  moment  it  was  evidently  so  regarded  by  the  Burman, 
for  he  led  the  way  to  it  without  speaking.  It  was  a  large  square 
well — the  bricks  all  green  with  moss,  or  silvered  by  lichens — 
almost  as  good  as  new,  and  quite  superior  to  anything  in  the 
neighborhood.  It  could  not  be  looked  upon  without  some  emo- 
tion ;  and  the  man  stood  by  us  listening  to  all  our  remarks  as 
though  he  hoped  to  hear  something  he  might  understand ;  and 
when  we  went  aw^ay  he  followed  a  little,  and  then  stood  and 
gazed  after  us  in  wondering  silence. 

Another  of  our  visiting  places  was  the  but  half  enclosed  neg- 
lected English  grave-yard.  The  first  child  of  European  parents 
born  in  Burmah  had  been  buried  there ;  and  there  was  a  strong 
tie  between  that  mouldering  little  one  and  ourselves.  Over  the 
grave  of  little  Roger  stood,  but  slightly  broken,  the  rude  brick 
monument  which  was  built  thirty-three  years  ago ;  and  a  tall 
azalia,  very  much  like  those  which  perfume  the  forests  of  our 
New  York,  had  grown  out  from  the  base  almost  overshadowing 
it.  It  was  strange  to  stand  and  muse  beside  that  little  grave, 
with  one  parent  by  my  side,  and  the  other  so  irrecoverably  a 
being  of  the  past.  Oh,  how  she  had  wept  there ! — and  how 
human  she  grew — she  whom  I  had  formerly  only  wondered  at 
— while  my  own  tears  started  in  sympathy.  .  .  . 
Most  truly  and  sincerely  yours, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 


"bat  castle."  •        285 

They  were  occupants  of  "Bat  Castle"  about  seven 
months — months  of  many  trials,  but  of  deep  and  con- 
centrated enjoyment,  in  which  Emily  was  brought  into 
most  exclusive  and  close  contact  with  her  husband,  and 
made  most  completely  dependent  on  the  stores  of  his 
rich  experience,  and  culture,  and  ripened  Christian  char- 
acter. Her  spiritual  nature  was  elevated  in  consequence, 
and  her  consecration  to  the  work  which  absorbed  his 
energies  deepened.  Mr.  Willis'  prophecy  that  her  "hus- 
band's errand  abroad  would  draw  on  the  volcanic  enthu- 
siasm of  her  nature,"  was  verified.  She  was  becomins: 
growingly  dead  to  the  world,  and  more  and  more  anxious 
for  a  life  of  Christian  usefulness. 

For  minute  details — of  the  fire  which  consumed  their 
goods  left  in  Maulmain,  of  their  missionary  toils  and 
government  troubles,  I  must  refer  the  reader  to  the 
"  Life  of  Dr.  Judson."  But  they  could  not  remain. 
They  were  effectually  precluded  from  any  open  mission- 
ary work  at  Eangoon,  and  had  their  faces  and  hearts 
turned  toward  Ava,  when  an  unlooked-for  obstacle  in- 
terposed. Their  supplies  were  cut  ofP.  They  received 
word  from  Maulmain  that  the  appropriations  to  the 
Indian  mission  had  been  curtailed,  and  that,  in  carry- 
ing out  the  plan  of  retrenchment,  their  brethren  had  not 
thought  proper  to  make  further  provision  for  the  mission 
in  Rangoon.  They,  of  course,  had  no  further  discretion 
in  the  matter,  and  were  compelled,  with  bitter  disap- 
pointment and  anguish,  to  return  to  Maulmain,  where, 
after  much  suffering  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Judson,  they 
anived  early  in  September. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

CNCLOUDED    SUNSHINE. 

"  My  life  is  like  a  river  full  and  deep, 
And  glowing  with  the  light, 
My  other  life  submerging  in  its  sweep, 
As  morning  buries  night." 

Ke-established  in  their  old  quarters,  Dr.  Judson 
devoted  himself  to  his  dictionary,  and  resumed  a 
partial  pastorship  of  the  native  church.  His  wife 
prosecuted  the  study  of  the  language,  and  as  soon  as 
her  health  allowed,  made  herself  growingly  active  and 
useful  in  the  mission,  conducting  prayer-meetings,  and 
instructing  classes  in  the  Scriptures. 

On  the  24th  of  December  Emily  Frances  was  born, 
whom  she  consecrated  to  a  poetic  immortality  by  the 
beautiful  poem,  "My  Bird.''  This,  with  many  other 
of  her  pieces,  shows  how  the  rod  that  smites  the  heart's 
affections  opens  the  deepest  well-springs  of  poesy,  and 
how  superficial  was  that  old  G-reek  conception  which  exiled 
the  Muses  from  the  sweet  charities  of  domestic  life. 

MY       BIRD. 

Ere  last  year's  moon  had  left  the  sky, 

A  birdhng  sought  my  Indian  nest, 
And  folded,  O,  so  lovingly ! 

Her  tiny  wings  upon  my  breast. 


UNCLOUDED    SUNSHINE.  287 

From  morn  till  evening's  purple  tinge 

In  winsome  helplessness  she  lies ; 
Two  rose  leaves,  with  a  silken  fringe, 

Shut  softly  on  her  starry  eyes. 

There's  not  in  Ind  a  lovelier  bird ; 

Broad  earth  owns  not  a  happier  nest ; 
O  God,  Thou  hast  a  fountain  stirred. 

Whose  waters  never  more  shall  rest ! 

This  beautiful,  mysterious  thing, 

This  seeming  visitant  from  heaven. 
This  bird  with  the  immortal  wing. 

To  me — to  me,  Thy  hand  has  given. 

The  pulse  first  caught  its  tiny  stroke. 

The  blood  its  crimson  hue,  from  mine  ;— 

This  life,  which  I  have  dared  invoke, 
Henceforth  is  parallel  with  thine. 

A  silent  awe  is  in  my  room ; 

I  tremble  with  delicious  fear ; 
The  future,  with  its  light  and  gloom, — 

Time  and  Eternity  are  here. 

Doubts — hopes,  in  eager  tumult  rise  ; 

Hear,  O  my  God !  one  earnest  prayer : 
Room  for  my  bird  in  Paradise, 

And  give  her  angel-plumage  there ! 

The  year  1848  brought  with  it  Kttle  of  outward  inci-* 
dent,  and  was  one  of  almost  unclouded  happiness. 
They  were  both  in  excellent  health,  and  enjoying  hourly 
each  other's  society  and  their  work.  Dr.  Judson  was, 
indeed,  still  looking  toward  Ava,  and  watching  anxiously, 
.though  vainly,  the  lifting  of  the  cloud  that  rested  on 
idolatrous    Burmah.      In   America,   their    friends    the 


288  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

Sheldons  and  Anables,  transferred  their  home,  and  with 
this  one  of  Mrs.  Judson's  "  heart  homes/'  from  Utica  to 
Philadelphia.  I  can  select  but  three  or  four  from  the 
letters  of  the  year. 

TO    MISS   JANE    E.    KELLY. 

Maulmajn,  February  7, 1848. 

Dear  Jenny, — 

I  have  seen  my  two  fine  boys  safe  in  their  nests,  and  taken  a 
peep  into  baby's  little  swing-cot,  and  as  the  worser-half  is  out 
tea-ing  it,  I  am  all  alone.  All  alone  ?  Bless  me,  how  indiffer- 
ent we  can  be  brought  to  feel  to  the  presence  of  humans! 
There  is  Granny  Grunter  (alias  wet-nurse,  alias  Mah  Bya),  who 
who  does  nothing  but  eat  and  sleep  alternately  (she  is  eating 
now)  during  the  twenty-four  hours,  and  who  would  invent  a 
machine  to  lift  the  child  and  carry  it  to  her  breast  if  she  were 
a  Yankee.  Then  there  is  his  impship,  teetotum  John,  an  old 
Bengalee  dwarf,  with  a  smoke-colored  face,  no  teeth,  a  vermilion 
tongue,  that  looks  precisely  like  a  snake's,  and  muscles  all  on 
the  outside  of  his  dried-up  body.  No  monkey  ever  practiced 
more  grimaces,  no  goose  was  ever  half  so  much  of  a  fool,  or 
hissed  with  more  effect,  and  no  other  blackamoor,  I  am  sure, 
could  love  "Massa"  and  "Missish"  so  well,  or  be  so  useful 
and  faithful.  In  addition  to  all  his  other  qualifications,  our 
John  (the  missionaries  named  him  John  because  his  heathen 
name  was  too  wicked  to  speak)  is  that  wonder  of  wonders  in 
this  climate,  an  active  man.  Well,  John  is  rattling  the  tea-cups 
on  the  veranda;  and  in  my  door,  erect  as  a  sentinel,  stands  Sir 
Oily  Long-legs — a  Bengalee  of  the  first  water — Jessingh  by  his 
heathen  appellation,  and  lady's  factotum,  at  least  at  present. 
He  is  a  fine-looking  six-footer,  with  a  turban  which  makes  him 
appear  at  least  six  inches  taller.  And  what  do  you  think  he 
does — this  magnificent  specimen  of  humanity,  with  his  quick 
eye,  graceful  figure,  and  smooth  tongue  ?  "Why,  any  thing  and 
every  thing  "  mamma  "  please!^,  and  as  deliberately  and  super- 
4 


UNCLOUDED   SUNSHINE.  289 

ficially  as  Jessingh  pleases.  He  bathes  the  boys,  dresses  and 
undresses  them,  sweeps  the  floors,  waxes  the  tables,  puts 
"mamma's"  things  to  rights,  even  in  her  dressing-room,  runs 
of  errands,  and  lastly,  though  far  from  least,  sews  on  all 
needed  strings  and  buttons.  Isn't  he  a  useful  man,  this  Jes- 
singh 1  Too  costly,  however,  is  he  for  common  use,  and  so 
when  Miss  Frank  is  a  week  or  two  older,  I  shall  have  to  dismiss 
him.  Do  you  wonder  why  he  stands  there  in  the  door  so  like 
a  statue  ?  Why,  in  these  parts,  where  every  man  sleeps  with  a 
spear  at  his  bed's  head,  women  people  do  not  stay  alone  as  in 
your  land  of  safety.  So,  when  master  goes  out.  Long-legs 
stands  guard,  and  if  mamma  chances  to  want  a  pocket-hand- 
kerchief or  string,  searches  creation  over  but  it  is  found,  and  then 
presents  it  with  such  a  reverence  as  you  never  saw  in  America. 
Such  offices  are  what  these  fellows  like,  but  all  work  they 
detest.  What  would  you  think,  Jenny,  of  having  this  same 
Sir  Oily  hooking  your  frock,  making  your  bed,  and  performing 
other  like  offices  ?  Mind,  I  do  not  say  that  I  so  employ  him  ; 
but  if  you  want  to  learn  to  think  just  nothing  at  all  of  men  and 
women,  why,  come  out  here  and  employ  Bengalee  servants.  The 
Burmese  are  a  little  diflferent. 

February/ 10.  The  scene  is  changed  since  writing  the  above. 
It  is  just  half  past  twelve  and  painfully  light  (nobody  darkens 
houses  here).  I  have  just  basted  a  hem  for  a  Burmese  girl — 
my  only  sempstress — and  she  is  poking  over  it.  Sir  Oily  has 
been  missing  since  nine  o'clock,  and  my  mouth  is  drawn  into 
scolding  order.  Wet-nurse  asleep,  as  usual ;  factotum  gone  to 
buy  dinner ;  little  Master  Henry  at  his  lesson,  which  I  must 
hear  very  soon  ;  Edward  rolling  on  the  carpet,  with  his  heels  in 
the  air,  and  spelling  "  b-a  ba,"  with  all  his  might ;  husband,  as 
usual,  digging  at  his  dictionary,  with  his  two  assistants  ;  and  I 
by  just  such  a  confused,  littered  up  table  as  you  used  to  see  at 
home,  with  baby  asleep  on  my  knees  (baby  is  sick  to-day,  and 
I  have  been  dosing  her),  my  port-folio  in  a  chair  on  one  side, 
and  a  half  dozen  Burman  books  on  the  other.     Do  you  think 

13 


290  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

you  see  us  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it.  The  bare  floors  in  every  room 
but  this  of  mine,  the  unglazed  windows,  the  high  roof,  through 
which  the  daylight  peeps  so  boldly,  the  frame-work  of  the  house 
standing  out  from  the  boards  after  the  fashion  of  a  barn,  the 
screen-like  partitions,  the  strips  of  awning,  hung  here  and  there, 
to  answer  the  purpose  of  a  ceiling,  and  waving  in  the  wind — 
these,  and  a  thousand  other  oddities,  I  am  sure  you  could  not 
see  if  you  were  to  try. 

"  Not  quite  yet."  That  was  not  said  to  you,  but  in  answer 
to  a  call  from  the  next  room — "Lovey,  will  you  have  Ko-shway- 
doke  now?"  Ko-shway-doke  is  my  Burmese  teacher,  a  fine, 
gentlemanly  fellow,  who  always  covers  his  knees  with  his  silk 
waist  cloth,  and  when  he  comes  to  my  room  sits  in  a  chair. 

Don't  expect  a  decent  letter  from  me,  for  I  have  scarce  a 
minute  that  I  can  call  my  own.  Just  before  we  left  Rangoon, 
I  gave  you  a  long  description  of  the  difierent  costumes  which  I 
saw  in  the  course  of  the  day — Burmese,  Mussulman,  Chinese, 
Jewish,  and  Armenian.  The  Karen  and  Shan  are  very  much 
like  the  Burmese,  and  the  Portuguese  are  caricatures  of  the 
English.  Think  of  men  walking  the  streets  with  English  panta- 
loons, and  jackets  made  of  silk  striped  in  crimson,  yellow, 
bright  green,  etc.  The  better  sort  of  Armenian  ladies  adopt 
English  fashions,  and  procure  their  go-abroad  dresses  from  Cal- 
cutta. They,  of  course,  want  the  nicest  articles  out,  and  so  get 
party  dresses.  It  is  ridiculous  to  see  one  of  these  pretty,  liquid- 
eyed  madams,  parading  our  narrow,  dirty  streets,  with  a  train 
of  Burmese  women  (lady's  maids)  at  her  heels,  and  arrayed 
according  to  her  extravagant  taste.  The  richest  silks,  crimson, 
green,  gold,  etc.,  are  worn,  but  rich  laces  and  lisses,  with  short 
sleeves,  low  necks,  and  short  over-skirts  are  most  in  vogue  ;  and 
would  n't  you  laugh  to  see  the  mountain  of  a  bishop  ?  They 
do  not  wear  bonnets,  but  decorate  their  heads  in  various  ways, 
and  load  themselves  with  jewelry.  A  lady  called  on  me  in  the 
day-time,  who  would  have  been  elegant  in  a  ballroom,  but 
altogether  over-dressed  in  a  Utica  party.     .     .     . 


UNCLOUDED   SUNSHINE.  291 

TO    MRS.    BEATTOIf. 

Mr  Dear  Mrs.  Brayion—  maulmmk,  March  20,  im. 

'     '  „\  ^  ^""y ''PP'-eciate  your  kindness  in  "advocatins 
my  canse,"  but  after  al],  my  dear  sister,  of  what  consequencf 
are  the  opinions  of  men  ?     Why  should  X  spend  the  few  pre- 
cious hours  allotted  me  here  in  trying  to  convince  people  away 
m  America    hat  I  am  a  good  missionary?    If  I  waJk  humbly 
and  prayerfully  before  God,  tiy  to  do  all  the  good  in  my  power 
and  leave  my  reputation  in  His  hands,  I  am  not  afraid  that 
hall  suffer.     But  for  this  trust  I  should  scarce  have  ventured 
to  put  myself  in  a  position  to  be  criticized,  as  I  very  well  knew 
I  was  doing  when  I  consented  to  come  to  Burmah.     Formerly 
I  used  the  little  talent  that   God  had  given  me   for  what  I 
believed  a  legitimate  object,  and  I  can  but  believe  that  I  was 
Wessed  in  so  doing.    As  soon  as  that  object  was  accomplished, 
He  opened  a  wider  field  of  usefulness,  and  I  entered  it      That 
I  am  unfit  for  the  work  I  very  well  know ;  that  I  may  be  fitted 
for  It  I  pray  daily.     But  will  it  fit  me  any  better-4hall  I  be 
any  more  dilligent  and  prayerful,  if  I  distract  my  mind  and 
divide  my  attention  between  what  Americans  think  of  me,  and 
what  Burmans  think  of  my  Saviour  ?     No,  no,  my  dear  sister ; 
though  many  may  thinS  ill  of  me,  I  already  have  more  credit 
than  I  deserve   and  my  little,  small,  insignificant  self  is  not 
worth  the  ink  that  would  be  wasted  on  a  vindication,  explana- 
tion, or  whatever  you  may  choose  to  call  it. 

If  you  were  here  I  could  tell  you  many  interesting-all  of 
them  to  me  mteresting-stories  of  the  children;  but  though 
my  partial  tongue  may  move  very  fast,  I  must  put  some  re- 
straint on  my  pen.  Yet  I  will  relate  one  little  anecdote  of 
Edward,  which  you  may  tell  to  Mary  if  you  like.  When  you 
left,  I  believe  the  little  fellow  could  not  talk,  but  now  he  has 
become  the  veriest  chatterbox  in  the  mission.  While  we  resided 
m  RangoOT  the  children  became  great  cowards  (I  suppose  they 


292  LIFE   OF   MES.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

caught  the  infection  from  us),  and  when  we  came  over  here  I 
was  obliged  to  take  great  pains  to  break  it  up.  One  night  Ed- 
ward, who  slept  in  a  little  room  by  himself,  called  out  that  he 
was  "  afraid,"  and  would  not  be  comforted.  I  have  never 
taught  them  a  prayer  to  repeat,  because  I  do  not  like  the  for- 
mality, but  I  assist  them  in  discovering  what  they  need,  and 
then  have  them  repeat  the  words  after  me.  So  I  prayed 
with  little  E.,  kissed  him  good  night,  and  left  him  apparently 
satisfied.  Pretty  soon,  however,  I  heard  him  call  out,  as  though 
in  great  distress,  "  0,  Dod  i"  The  poor  little  fellow  had  not 
suflScient  acquaintance  with  language  to  know  what  to  say  next ; 
but  this  up-lifting  of  the  heart  evidently  relieved  him,  for  in  a 
few  minutes  after  he  again  called  out,  "  O,  Dod  !"  but  in  a  tone 
much  softened.  I  stepped  to  the  door  but  hesitated  about 
entering.  In  a  few  minutes  he  again  repeated  "  O,  Dod  !"  but  in 
a  tone  so  confiding  that  I  thought  I  had  better  go  back  to  my 
room,  and  leave  him  with  his  Great  Protector.  I  heard  no  more 
of  him  for  some  time,  when  I  at  last  went  in  and  found  him  on 
his  knees  fast  asleep.  He  never  fails  now  to  remind  me  of 
asking  "  Dod  to  tate  tare  of  him,"  if  I  neglect  it,  and  I  have 
never  heard  him  say  a  word  since  of  being  afraid. 

.  .  .  I  am  very  busy  with  the  language,  having  got  on 
but  slowly  during  the  past  year.  Yoi^know  it  is  not  every  one 
who  comes  out  that  begins  with  a  family  of  children,  and  so  I 
am  obliged  to  be  doubly  diligent.  There  is  not  much  that  is 
encouraging  in  the  church  or  among  the  natives,  and  but  for 
faith,  I  am  afraid  that  the  hearts  of  the  missionaries  would 
sink.  By  reports  from  Rangoon,  Burmah  seems  more  effectu- 
ally closed  against  us  than  ever.  But  one  thing  we  do  know, 
that  the  day  will  come  when  "  the  earth  shall  be  filled  with  His 
glory !" 

Most  truly  and  afi'ectionately  yours, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 


UNCLOUDED   SUNSHINE.  293 


TO    MISS    SHELDON. 

Mattlmain,  May  29,  1848. 


My  Dear  Miss  Cynthia — 

The  rain  is  falling  with  a  charmingly  cooling  sound  to- 
night, a  grateful  sort  of  music  with  which  we  have  been  favored 
for  the  last  two  or  three  weeks.  Would  you  have  believed  that 
/  would  ever  like  rainy  weather,  such  as  divides  the  streets  into 
gutters,  washes  the  color  and  perfume  from  the  flowers,  and 
mantles  everything  within  doors  with  mildew?  Yet  I  do. 
What  a  wonderful  elasticity  must  the  mind  possess,  which  can 
accommodate  itself  to  circumstances  so  readily!  Mr.  J.  is  dig- 
ging at  his  tedious  dictionary  to-night,  as  usual ;  the  three  little 
people  are  fast  asleep  under  their  musquito  curtains,  and  so,  the 
day's  work  done,  I  am  at  liberty  to  come  to  you.  And  now  do 
you  see  me,  nestled  down  in  the  corner  of  the  big  couch,  there 
where  I  have  been  a  hundred  times  before?  Not  see?  O, 
would  that  I  could  be  there  with  eyes  and  tongue,  as  I  am  in 
spirit,  for  I  want  to  look  upon  you  once  again,  and  to  tell  you 
a  great  many  things.  And  first,  I  would  tell  you — for  you 
would  inquire — why  my  complexion  and  figure  are  so  changed. 
I  should  scarce  be  called  pale  and  thin  now,  I  am  so,  so  well ! 
What  do  you  think  of  a  walk  of  three  miles  before  breakfast? 
Is  there  no  sound  of  health  and  vigor  in  that  ?  Do  not  tell 
me  that,  in  such  a  case,  I  have  an  additional  talent  to  account 
for.     I  am  feeling  it  most  deeply  just  now. 

But  there  are  more  interesting  matters  than  any  which  per- 
tain to  my  little  self — just  those  things  which  it  is  impossible  to 
write  down.  Since  my  first  letters  (all  written  running)^  I  have 
been  censured  more  than  I  deserve  for  being  a  negligent  cor- 
respondent. Now,  there  are  two  special  reasons  why  I  write 
so  little.  The  first  is  want  of  time.  "When  I  first  landed  I 
was  a  spectator ;  now  I  am  a  worker — in  the  smallest  of  all 
ways,  to  be  sure,  but  still  I  am  busy.  Every  moment  seems 
inexpressibly  precious,  and  how  few  the  days  before  we  shall 


294  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

be  in  the  grave ;    and,  Aunt  C,  I  do  want  to  be  made  tbe 
instrument  of  some  little  good  before  I  die. 

My  other  reason  for  not  writing  is,  that  I  can  not.  I  lack 
the  power  to  paint  to  you  things  as  they  really  exist.  We 
breathe  a  different  atmosphere  from  yours,  and  its  peculiarities 
are  not  transferable,  at  least  by  my  pen.  If  we  attempt  to  pre- 
sent them  to  you,  they  fall  in  distorted  shapes  on  your  vision. 
1  have  felt  this  most  painfully  when  sitting  down  to  write  to 
you.  "  How  interested  aunt  C.  would  be  in  this  story !  But 
no.  I  must  explain  that — and  that — and  that;  and  then  it 
would  prove  but  a  common-place  bit  of  missionary  intelligence 
after  all."  To  be  interesting,  a  writer  must  be  met  half  way — 
half  on  the  paper,  half  in  the  reader's  heart.  Kow,  though  the 
great  cause  of  missions  is  in  your  heart,  and  dear  as  your  life, 
the  special  details  are  not  there,  and  can  not  be  put  there. 
Imagination  is  a  fine  painter  ;  but  it  is  past  associations,  simple 
memories,  that  stir  up  feeling.  "  Give  us  light,"  one  earnest 
generous-spirited  correspondent  writes  to  me,  "  and  we  will  ■ 
give  you  money."  Now,  if  I  believed  it  possible,  by  dint  of 
severe  labor,  to  furnish  the  necessary  light,  I  would  work  much 
harder  than  in  days  gone  by,  when  you  used  to  come  to  me 
at  midnight  with  the  refreshing  draught  and  kind  words ;  for 
money  is  the  thing  just  now  most  needed.     .     .     . 

If  I  were  sitting  by  you,  I  could  give  you  some  personal  ex- 
perience. I  would  tell  you  of  a  time  when  we  were  hungry  for 
want  of  palatable  food  ;  when  we  were  ill,  and  had  neither  com- 
forts nor  physician ;  when  we  were  surrounded  by  the  spies  of 
a  jealous  and  unscrupulous  government,  without  any  earthly 
friend  to  assist  us,  or  any  way  of  escape.  But  there  are  circum- 
stances in  which  even  such  trials  assume  a  minor  importance. 
My  first  real  missionary  trial — (you  would  believe  me  could  you 
hear  me  speak  the  words,  though  it  may  sound  common-place  on 
paper) — was  when,  amidst  suff'erings  such  as  I  have  described, 
a  letter  came  telling  of  retrenchments.  Schools,  with  the  life 
already  nearly  pressed  out  of  them,  must  be  cramped  still  more ; 


UNCLOUDED   SUNSHINE.  295 

assistants  must  be  cut  off;  the  workmen's  hands  must  be  tied 
a  little  tighter  ;  and  then,  if  they  could  succeed  in  making  bricks 
without  straw,  the  churches  at  home  were  ready  to  rejoice  in 
their  success.  This  intelligence,  of  course,  reared  a  wall  directly 
across  our  own  path  ;  for  how  could  we  carry  out  our  plan  of 
going  to  Ava,  while  we  lacked  even  the  means  of  remaining 
where  we  were  ?  There  was  nothing  left  us  but  to  retrace  our 
steps ;  so  we  came  back  to  good,  comfortable,  pleasant  Maul- 
main,  making  a  decided  gain  in  the  Egyptian  "  leek  and  onion" 
line.  I  do  not  wish,  dear  aunt  C,  to  say  an  unkind  word ; 
but  do,  please,  tell  me  your  own  opinion.  Is  not  the  great  in- 
terest in  missions,  which  makes  so  much  noise  at  the  present 
day,  very  much  a  matter  of  moonshine — more  on  the  tongue 
than  in  the  heart  ?  It  is  not  becoming  in  me,  perhaps,  to  write 
of  this ;  but  I  think,  if  some  of  our  rich  American  Baptists 
could  occupy  our  point  of  vision  for  a  little  while,  it  would 
plant  a  most  salutary  thorn  in  their  consciences.  I  have  only 
room,  etc., 

E.  C.  J. 

The  following  letter  was  addressed  to  Rev.  Dr.  Ken- 
drick  while  he  lay  enduring  the  long  agonies  of  his  linger- 
ing death.  When  it  arrived  his  eyes  were  sealed  in 
death,  and  his  spirit  had  gone  to  its  rest : 

TO    REV.    DR.    NATHANIEL    KENDRICK. 

Mattlsiain,  June  20, 1848. 

Mt  Very  Dear  Father  and  Friend, — 

You  have  so  long  been  apparently  within  a  step  of  heaven, 
and  have  been  so  happy  in  that  position,  that  you  will  not  be 
shocked  when  I  say  I  should  have  written  you  before,  but  that 
I  supposed  you  would  be  beyond  the  reach  of  letters  before  mine 
could  cross  the  ocean.  God,  however,  has  been  very  merciful 
to  those  who  love  you,  and  has  kept  you  with  them ;  and  I  can 
not  but  hope  you  will  still  remain  much  longer,  though   for 


296  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

yourself  "to   depart   and  be  with  Christ,"  is  doubtless   "far 
better." 

Since,  my  dear  Dr.  Kendrick,  you  were  tlie  first,  and  indeed 
the  only  one  to  whom  I  communicated  my  early  impressions 
with  regard  to  missions,  it  is  fitting  that  I  should  tell  you  some- 
thing of  my  views  since  I  have  actually  entered  upon  the  field. 
I  was  very  young  when  I  opened  my  heart  to  you — full  of  the 
enthusiastic  romance  of  girlhood,  and  the  undisciplined  zeal  of 
a  young  Christian.  When  I  remember  this,  I  almost  wonder 
that  you  should  have  spoken  so  kindly  and  encouragingly — in- 
deed, your  most  judicious  letter,  though  not  understood  at  the 
time,  was  invaluable  to  me  afterward.  Your  advice  to  "  await 
the  openings  of  Providence,"  had  a  calming  efi'ect;  and  I  am 
glad  I  learned  so  long  ago  how  good  it  is  to  wait,  for  this  is  a 
much  more  difficult  part  of  Christian  duty  than  to  labor,  God 
led  me  in  a  mysterious  way  afterward — perhaps  to  show  me 
more  of  my  own  heart,  and  more  of  the  completely  unsatisfying 
nature  of  this  world,  even  in  its  brightest  guises,  than  I  should 
otherwise  have  learned.  My  early  impressions  did  not  wear 
away  gradually,  as  you  would  naturally  suppose;  but  circum- 
stances seemed  to  force  me  into  another  path  of  life ;  and  so, 
not  without  a  severe  struggle,  I  deliberately  gave  up  the  hope — 
perhaps  I  should  say  dream — of  years.  But  my  regret  was 
short-lived.  I  entered  upon  my  new  plans — every  thing  pros- 
pered that  my  hand  touched — and  I  grew  very  worldly — so 
worldly  that  I  used  sometimes  to  laugh  within  myself  at  my 
own  early  folly,  and  to  be  ashamed  to  meet  you,  because  I 
knew  you  were  acquainted  with  it.  In  the  midst  of  this, 
though  I  did  not  "  await  the  openings  of  Providence,"  the  door 
opened ;  but  by  this  time  it  was  like  death  for  me  to  enter. 
Of  myself ,  I  never  could  have  resolved  on  the  great  step,  but 
God  strengthened  me,  and  after  that  first  resolve,  I  found  it 
comparatively  easy  to  break  the  innumerable  ties  which  I  had 
been  so  long  and  so  industriously  gathering  about  me.  And 
now  I  can  not  be  too  thankful  that  I  am  here.     I  do  not  know 


UNCLOUDED   SUNSHINE.  297 

that  God  has  given  me  any  work  to  do— I  am  certain  that  I 
do  not  deserve  any  such  honor ;  but  I  mean  to  stand  ready,  and 
I  daily  feel,  more  and  more,  that  it  is  a  precious  privilege  to 
be  in  the  field.  The  work  of  missions  is  continually  becoming 
dearer,  and  assuming  increased  glory  and  magnitude  in  my 
eyes ;  and  now,  though  I  am  the  least  of  laborers,  too  small  to 
be  included  in  the  number,  I  would  not  exchange  my  position 
for  any  thing  on  earth. 

The  letter  which,  thirteen  years  ago,  you  slid  into  my  hand 
as  you  were  passing  our  door  in  Morrisville,  tattered  and  some- 
what faded,  lies  before  me  now.  It  opens  with  the  remark, 
"  The  day  is  wonderful  in  which  we  live ;"  and  the  time  that 
has  elapsed  since  those  words  were  written  has  only  rendered 
their  truth  still  more  striking.  The  day  is  indeed  wonderful, 
and  each  passing  moment  unfolds  new  wonders.  Perhaps  the 
strangest  feature  of  all  is  that  rulers  and  statesmen,  and  political 
revolutionists,  without  being  in  the  least  aware  of  it,  are  actu- 
ally cooperating  with  the  Church  of  Christ  in  setting  up  His 
kingdom ;  and  as  "  the  angel  having  the  everlasting  gospel  to 
preach"  wings  his  flight,  they  are  opening  the  way  before  him. 
It  is  better  to  be  a  willing  instrument  in  the  hands  of  God, 
though  it  is  to  accomplish  comparatively  small  things,  than 
an  unconscious  one ;  and  it  is  my  earnest  desire  to  have  grace 
to  "  act  well  my  part,"  whatever  it  may  be.  You  used  often  to 
pray  by  the  bedside  of  my  now  sainted  sister  Lavinia ;  will  you 
not  from  your  own  bed  of  suffering  pray  for  me  also,  since  you 
know  that  I  stand  greatly  in  need  of  your  prayers? 
My  dear  husband  joins  in  most  affectionate  regards. 

Emily  C.  Judson. 
13* 


CHAPTEH    XVIII. 

GATHEKING    CLOUDS. 

"  Then  sorrow,  touclied  by  thee,  grows  hright 
"With  more  than  rapture's  ray, 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 
We  never  saw  by  day." 

The  year  1849  witnessed  a  marked  change  in  their 
condition.  The  serious  illness  of  Emily  Frances  at  its 
commencement,  was  followed,  upon  her  recovery,  by 
alarming  symptoms  in  Mrs.  Judson.  A  trip  down  the 
coast  to  Tavoy  was  prescribed  by  her  physician,  and 
proved  somewhat  serviceable.  Her  worst  symptoms 
gradually  disappeared ;  yet  she  never  entirely  regained  her 
previous  robustness.  And  then  toward  the  close  of  the 
year  came  the  unlooked-for  and  crushing  blow — that  fatal 
illness  of  her  husband  which  was  ultimately  fatal.  Afflic- 
tion, however,  was  proving  a  manifest  blessing.  The  dark 
clouds  which  lowered  upon  her  earthly  lot  beamed  with 
brightness  to  her  spiritual  eye.  God  was  evidently  sanc- 
tifying her,  and  preparing  her  for  the  severe  trials  and 
struggles  which  awaited  her.  Her  letters  and  journals 
breathe  a  growing  spirit  of  Christian  and  missionary  con- 
secration : 

TO    MISS    KELLY. 

Matjlmain,  April  17, 1849. 

My  Dear  Jane, — 

You  would  have  had  my  congratulations  on  the  promising 
condition  of  your  school  earlier,  but  for  extreme  illness  which 


GATHERING   CLOUDS.  299 

has  for  a  long  time  prevented  rae  from  using  my  pen.  Aunb' 
Cynthia  writes  that  your  dear  mother  and  sisters  (does  your 
mother  remember  me?)  are  all  with  you,  and  also  that  you  have 
Mary  Barker,  whom  I  know  you  love  very  much.  How  I  should 
like  to  step  into  the  dear  old  house  once  more  and  see  it  in  its 
changes !  It  would  make  me  melancholy,  I  know ;  but  still  I 
can  rejoice  in  your  bright  prospects  most  sincerely.  You  have 
struggled  against  adversity  nobly,  and  you  deserve  success. 

Does  Miss  B.  remember  and  speak  of  me  ?  .  .  .  Who 
conducts  worship  in  the  dining-room  1  Who  takes  charge  of 
the  compositions  ?  And  who  are  your  music  teachers  1  During 
my  night  fevers  old  scenes  have  come  back  to  me  with  peculiar 
vividness,  and  O  how  I  have  longed  to  be  set  down  in  your 
school-room  with  my  old  composition  class  once  again !  Some 
of  the  pupils  whom  I  loved  have  been  married  since  I  left,  and 
some  have  gone  down  to  the  grave;  the  great  body  of  them 
are  scattered  widely,  while  a  few  may  be  still  with  you.     I 

should  like  to  inquire  for ,and ,  and .     Are  they 

with  you  still,  or  have  the  older  ones  finished  and  gone  1  If 
you  see  them,  please  say  for  me  that  I  remember  them  most 
lovingly ;  that  I  recall  every  feature  of  their  faces,  and  even  the 
tones  of  their  voices.  I  shall  never  see  them  again  in  this 
world;  but  beg  of  them  to  meet  me  where,  I  doubt  not, 
friends  will  recognize  each  other  with  more  pleasure  than  we 
can  now  conceive— in  heaven.  Are  they  beautiful  ?  Tell  them 
to  look  on  those  who  are  but  a  few  years  older  than  themselves, 
and  see  how  soon  beauty  will  lose  its  attractive  freshness.  Are 
they  accomplished  1  Accomplishments  are  more  enduring ;  but 
in  the  grave,  which,  since  I  last  saw  them,  has  opened  for 
many  as  full  of  health  and  hope  as  they,  pleasant  voices  and 
the  tones  of  music  are  not  heard.  There  the  bouncjifcg  foot  is 
stilled,  the  cunning  hand  is  palsied;  and  there  Wq  star. of 
worldly  wisdom  sets  forever.  Urge  them  strongly,  dear  Jane, 
to  adorn  themselves  with  such  Christian  graces  as»shall  be  trans- 
ferred with  their  ransomed  spirits  to  Paradise,     ^'ell  them  how 


300  LIFE   OF  MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

%  sweet  to  tlie  Saviour  is  the  incense  of  young  hearts,  and  what 
a  precious  Friend  He  is  under  all  the  circumstances  of  life.  I 
wish  you  would  ask  each  one  of  them,  and  any  others  about 
you  whom  I  may  know,  to  write  me,  if  but  a  tiny  note.  If  you 
please,  put  all  the  notes  into  one  envelope  and  forward  to  me. 
Now  that  our  perils  by  sea,  by  fire,  by  robbers,  and  by  a  perse- 
cuting government,  together  with  our  first  heavy  illnesses,  are 
over,  my  thoughts  revert  frequently  to  old  scenes ;  and  though 
I  have  a  sweet,  precious  home,  and  am  very  happy  in  it,  far  hap- 
pier than  ever  in  my  life  before,  I  can  not  always  keep  back  the 
tears.  The  past — the  past — has  in  it  a  very  saddening  tone. 
Then  I  have  to  regret  that  I  was  not  a  more  meek,  prayerful, 
devoted  Christian  when  with  you ;  and  I  would  gladly  retrace 
my  steps,  and  walk  more  becomingly  as  a  child  of  God.  Think 
of  my  own  helpless  httle  children,  and  of  the  ignorant  heathen 
women  that  God  has  placed  me  here  to  guide,  and  pray  for  me. 
That  our  Heavenly  Father  may  bless  and  prosper  you  ever, 
is,  dear  Jane,  the  prayer  of 

Yours  sincerely  and  most  aff'ectionately, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 

to  her  sister. 

Maulmain,  April  19, 1849. 

Dear  Katy, — 

I  should  hardly  write  you  this  month  but  that  you  may 
hear  I  am  ill  and  so  be  anxious.  The  whole  truth  is,  I  was  at- 
tacked by  a  cough  last  December  which  kept  growing  more  and 
more  serious  till  into  January.  I  strained  my  breast  lifting 
Emmy  Fan  during  her  illness,  and  for  about  a  week  after  she 
got  well  was  considered  "  in  danger,"  but  almost  immediately 
rallied  again.  We  thought  I  was  almost  well,  and  purchased  a 
pony  so  that  I  could  get  exercise  on  horseback,  but  I  rode  him 
only  about  a  week.  After  that  I  went  down  very  rapidly— « 
cough,  fevers,  and  night-sweats — until  I  got  to  be  a  mere  skele- 
ton and  very  weak  indeed.  We  then  became  alarmed,  and 
tried  what  a  trip  to  Tavoy  would  do.     Mr.  J.  could  not  leave 


GATHERING   CLOUDS.  301 

very  well,  so  I  took  Henry  and  Frances  and  two  servants,  and 
went  ofi'  under  the  protection  of  a  kind  English  officer,  who  paid 
me  every  attention.     Mrs.  Bennett  noticed  my  cough  at  once, 
and  sent  for  the  doctor,  who  pronounced  my  case  very  critical. 
I  spent  a  week  in  Tavoy,  but  did  not  go  out  at  all,  and  really  I 
believe  they  were  glad  to  see  me  go  (though  extremely  kind), 
for  they  were   afraid  I  should  die  away  from  my  husband. 
When  I  reached  home  again  I  was  in  a  serious  plight ;  but  Dr. 
Morton  (our  physician)  thought  the  violent  symptoms  were  to 
be  attributed  to  congestion  of  the  liver  rather  than  disease  of 
the  lungs ;  in  which,  thus  far,  his  opinion  has  proved  correct. 
He  overcame  the  fever,  pain  in  the  side,  and  difficulty  of  breath- 
ing by  degrees,  so  that  I  now  suffer  very  little  from  either.     I 
still  have  some  fever,  which  is  kept  down  by  daily  doses  of 
quinine,  but  my  cough  is  slight  (I  take  medicine  for  it  three 
times  a  day),  the  night-sweats  have  almost  entirely  disappeared, 
my  appetite  has  been  very  much  improved,  and  my  strength  is 
daily  increasing.     We  begin  now  to  hope  confidently  that  it  is 
not  the  will  of  our  Heavenly  Father  to  break  up  the  family 
again  so  soon.     You  may  imagine  that  I  have  had  many  sor- 
rowful thoughts  about  the  poor  children  ;  but  you  can  not  im- 
agine what  a  wrenching  there  was  in  the  case  of  their  dear 
papa.     However,  there  is  every  prospect  now  that  my  life  will 
be  spared  ;  and  you  may  hear  of  us  in  a  few  months,  possibly  at 
Ava.     I  don't  know — and  in  truth  I  am  not  so  very  anxious 
about  it  as  I  should  be  if  my  hands  were  not  full  here.     I  want 
the  privilege  of  doing  a  little  for  Christ  before  I  die,  and  I  leave 
it  with  Him  to  determine  where  the  work  is  to  be  performed 
—though  I  must  say  I  have  a  slight  preference  in  favor  of  Ava. 
However,  my  principal  business  now  is  to  get  well,  and  every- 
body seems  to  be  trying  to  help  me.     The  Houghs  send  their 
carriage  for  me  to  drive  out  every  morning  for  the  present,  and 
as  we  find,  driving  very  beneficial,  we  have  just  made  arrange- 
ments for  purchasing  a  horse  and  buggy.     And  what  do  you 
think  ?  just  as  we  were  turning  the  matter  over  in  our  minds, 


302  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

in  came  the  mail  with  a  present  from  Mr.  Newton  of  New 
York,  which  enabled  us  to  make  the  purchase.  So  you  see  I 
am  quite  set  up.  Tell  Mrs.  Wade  to  hurry  back  before  I  get 
so  well  as  to  take  to  walking  again ;  for  Mr.  J.  hates  driving  so 
that  he  usually  makes  me  go  out  alone— so  I  shall  have  a  seat 
for  her.  (Going  out  alone  is  not  here  as  it  is  in  America — we 
have  a  groom  to  lead  the  horse  by  the  head.) 

Did  I  tell  you  last  month  about  the  nice  box  I  got  from  Phil- 
adelphia ?  It  is  valuable,  and  the  articles,  which  are  chosen 
with  great  care,  are  just  what  we  need.  We  hear  by  this  mail 
also  that  we  are  to  have  a  box  from  Oliver  street  church,  in 
New  York.  The  Philadelphians  and  New  Yorkers  consulted 
with  each  others,  so  we  shall  not  be  overstocked  (it  is  not  very 
easy  to  be  overstocked  with  wearables  in  this  country)  with 
articles  of  the  same  kind.  These  presents  make  us  doubly  glad 
— glad  for  their  intrinsic  value,  and  glad  because  we  and  our 
work  are  remembered. 

TO    REV.    MR.    GILLETTE. 

Mattlmain,  April  20, 1849. 

.  .  .  "  Mamma  is  as  God  pleases  to  have  her,"  a  native 
Christian  woman  said  to  me  a  few  days  ago,  when  I  was  lament- 
ing my  inability  to  perform  my  usual  duties ;  and  it  is  that 
consciousness  which  has,  for  several  months  past,  kept  me  from 
discouragement.  If  it  pleases  God  to  lay  me  on  a  bed  of  sick- 
ness, and  thus  stop  my  work  and  break  up  all  my  plans,  shall  I 
put  on  a  mournful  face,  and  disobey  the  apostolic  injunction  to 
"  rejoice  evermore  ?"  That  would  be  like  a  sulky  child  pro- 
fessing to  want  to  help  you,  when  you  prefer  it  should  be 
quiet 

We  don't  need  a  comic  almanac  to  make  us  laugh  sometimes, 
though  we  are  away  in  heathendom ;  we  have  only  to  recall 
scores  of  funny  things  some  of  which  you  know,  and  some  you 
do  not  know.  You  know  we  are  neither  of  us  sad  people;  per- 
haps not  sad  enough ;  but  I  believe  that  work  which  goes  on 


GATHERING  CLOUDS.  303 

merrily  and  without  groaning,  is  quite  as  acceptable  to  God  as 
the  other.  The  bearer  of  glad  tidings  should  not  carry  a  face 
to  spoil  his  news — a  fact  of  which  the  natives  seem  quite  aware. 
However  sadness  is  good,  and  rejoicings  are  good;  and  whether 
we  have  a  weeping  gift  or  a  merry  gift,  let  us  strive  to  use  it, 
as  we  are  commanded  to  use  eating  and  drinking,  "  to  the  glory 
of  God."  Possibly  my  doctrine  may  not  be  considered  ortho- 
dox, but  it  is  that  of  the  New  Testament 

TO    MISS    ANABLE. 

Mattlmain,  April  20, 1849. 

My  Darling  Ninny, — 

I  wrote,  about  two  weeks  ago,  to  Aunt  Cynthia,  but  as  I 
then  supposed  it  would  be  my  last  letter,  it  is  not  suitable  to 
send  now.  So  she  will  excuse  me  for  not  answering  her  kind 
notes  this  month.  I  am  decidedly  better  than  a  month  ago, 
and  there  is  now  every  prospect  of  entire  recovery.  The  vio- 
lent symptoms,  it  seems,  were  occasioned  by  congestion  of  the 
liver,  and  not  by  disease  of  the  lungs,  as  was  at  first  supposed  ; 
though  the  lungs  are  not  yet  perfectly  safe  from  a  bronchial 
aflfection  contracted  in  December.  Did  Mr.  J.  write  you  that  I 
took  a  trip  to  Tavoy  in  the  steamer  ?  I  had  a  charming  visit 
with  good  Mrs.  Bennett,  although  I  was  confined  to  the  house, 
and  most  of  the  time,  to  my  bed.  I  do  not  wonder  that  Aunt 
C.  likes  her  ;  she  is  one  of  the  loveliest  Christians  I  ever  saw. 
I  feel  that  I  have  made  a  great  acquisition  in  adding  her  to 
my  list  of  personal  friends.  She  is  a  real  missionary,  always 
working  quietly  and  noiselessly.  "  Great  will  be  her  reward  in 
heaven." 

This  illness  of  mine  has  been  a  great  interruption  to  my 
work.  It  is  now  nearly  five  months  since  I  have  been  able  to 
read  aloud,  either  in  English  or  Burmese,  or  to  talk  continu- 
ously, and  I  find  that  I  have  lost  very  much  in  the  language. 
It  is  to  be  retained  only  by  using  the  voice,  not  by  the  eye. 
What  may  be  the  intention  of  my  Heavenly  Father  toward  me 


304  LIFE  or  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

I  can  not  know,  but  I  think  I  feel  submission  to  His  will.  When 
I  was  ill  in  Rangoon,  I  felt  very  impatient  because  I  was  doing 
nothing^  but  I  have  yielded  that  point  now.  I  know  that  I  do 
not  deserve  the  privilege  of  laboring  for  Christ,  and  what  right 
have  I  to  repine  ?  I  have  a  right  to  pray,  however ;  and  I  do 
pray,  most  earnestly,  that  I  may  be  allowed  to  offer  my  mite, 
and  that  it  may  be  accepted.  A  long  hfe  seeias  very  desirable 
in  a  place  like  this ;  but  the  All-wise  alone  can  tell  whose  life 
to  preserve,  and  whose  to  take  away. 

I  am  not  strong  enough  to  mount  my  pony  yet,  and  the  phy- 
sician says  it  will  be  long  before  the  exercise  is  good  for  me. 
But  the  Houghs  kindly  send  their  carriage,  and  I  drive  every 
morning.  I  am  about  selling  my  pony  ;  how  I  wish  I  could 
send  him  to  you — a  beautiful,  black  little  creature,  smooth  and 
glossy ;  full  of  spirit,  but  gentle  and  obedient,  and  gallops,  O, 
so  charmingly.  Do  you  not  want  him  ?  We  are  negotiating 
for  a  horse  and  buggy,  which  is  to  be  at  my  control.  Do  you 
think  we  are  extravagant  ?  "  All  that  a  man  hath  will  he  give 
for  his  life,"  or  his  wife's  life.  But  just  as  we  were  revolving 
the  matter  in  our  minds — what  do  you  think  ? — ^this  very 
month's  mail  brought  us  a  present  from  America  which  enables 
us  to  buy  it.  To  us  it  seems  providential.  .  .  May  God 
bless  you,  dear  Ninny,  all  of  you,  and  grant  you  much  of  His 
presence  here,  and  a  place  at  His  right  hand  hereafter. 

Lovingly, 

Nemmy. 

to  miss  anable. 

Maulmain,  June  2,  1849. 

My  Darling  Anna  Maria, — 

I  have  been  thinking  of  three  years  ago,  when  you  and  I 
were  at  the  little  loggery  in  Hamilton,  and  somebody  else,  not 
a  thousandth  part  so  dear  as  now,  was  there  too ;  and  we  were 
all  anticipating  a  grand  event  in  the  evening.  Then  good  old 
Dr.  Kendrick  was  able  to  walk  to  our  house  ;  now  he  is  shut 


GATHERING   CLOUDS.  305 

in  his  coffin — no,  not  there ! — resting  in  "  the  bosom  of  his 
Father  and  his  God."  Dear  grandfather  and  grandmother 
occupied  the  comfortable  basement  room  in  Utica,  which  we 
used  so  often  to  visit  of  a  Sunday  evening;  and  dear  Aunt 
Cynthia  was  the  life  of  the  household.  Grandfather  and 
Grandmother  have  since  then  found  a  more  comfortable 
and  a  glorious  home,  where  they  are  more  tenderly  loved 
than  by  us,  or  even  by  their  own  children ;  and  the  rest 
of  you  have  found  another  home  also,  but  a  different  one,  where 
you  must  still  encounter  the  ills  of  life,  and  turn  over  new  leaves 
to  be  re-read  in  eternity.  I  have  traveled  half  the  circuit  of  the 
globe  since  then ;  taken  upon  myself  new  toils,  new  responsi- 
bilities, and  new  enjoyments ;  added  one  little  spirit  to  the  list  of 
the  immortals,  and  hoped  and  prayed  for  the  privilege  of  adding 
many  more  of  Christ's  elect  to  the  list  of  Christ's  redeemed. 
Every  thing  is  changed  except  our  hearts  ;  I  trust  they  remain 
the  same,  only  as  they  may  have  gathered  spiritual  influences 
about  them,  and  adorned  themselves  with  more  beautiful  Chris- 
tian graces.  I  wish  you  were  sitting  by  me  now,  here  before  my 
large  open  window,  in  a  room,  I  will  venture  to  say,  as  comfort- 
able and  as  clean,  if  not  quite  so  handsomely  furnished  as  yours. 
The  dark,  glossy  leaves  of  the  Cape  jasmin,  just  below  the 
balustrade,  are  sparkling  with  rain-drops,  and  its  magnificent 
white  blossoms  fill  the  house  with  their  rich  perfume.  The 
trees,  too,  are  all  dripping  with  rain ;  and  gorgeous  birds,  though 
not  with  the  rich  voices  of  our  robin  and  bob-o-link,  are  singing 
in  the  branches ;  while  the  odd-looking  native  huts,  that  peep 
from  the  green  beyond,  add  to  the  picturesqueness  of  the  scene, 
just  as  a  gnarled  tree,  or  a  particularly  ugly  stump,  b-eautifies 
an  American  landscape.  The  bell  has  just  done  ringing,  and 
the  gayly  dressed  natives — the  women  with  bunches  of  flowers 
in  their  black  hair,  and  the  men  in  snowy  turbans — go  stream- 
ing by  to  the  chapel ;  and — wait  a  minute ! — there,  I  have  had 
my  kiss,  and  the  teacher,  as  usual  of  an  evening,  has  gone  to 
spend  an  hour  with  his  flock.     But  I  am  not  alone,  for  there 


306  LIFE  OP  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

are  merry  tones  rising  from  tlie  veranda.  Nurse  is  teaching 
baby  the  Burmese  alphabet,  and  her  curious  pronunciation  makes 
her  little  brothers  shout  with  laughter.  But  I  do  not  believe 
you  would  do  it  much  better ;  try,  and  see  :  Kah-gyee^  hah- 
gway^  ga-ngai^  etc.  Finally,  the  woman  comes  to  tah-tha-nyen- 
gyih^  which  she  pronounces  very  much  as  if  it  contained  only 
one  syllable,  and  baby  joins  her  shrill  little  voice  in  the  general 
laugh.  She  can  not  be  induced  to  attempt  its  pronunciation. 
I  do  wish  you  were  here,  darling,  if  only  to  see  how  God  has 
blest  me  with  the  sweetest  of  all  human  homes.  True,  we  lead 
a  life  of  toil  and  self-denial ;  but  all  that  we  suffer  is  for  Christ's 
sake,  and  we  know  that  our  smallest  sacrifice  does  not  escape 
His  notice.  And  for  every  sacrifice  we  are  receiving,  even  now, 
"  an  hundred  fold."  I  do  not  know  how  it  is  that  we  are  so  free 
from  every  care ;  nothing  can  worry  us,  or  make  us  anxious;  and 
I  beheve  it  is  because  the  Saviour  is  making  good  His  promises. 
That  is  why  I  am  not  afraid  to  go  to  Ava,  or  any  where.  We 
can  not  be  unhappy  while  we  lie  in  the  hands  of  God  like  little 
children ;  danger  will  not  be  danger,  and  suffering  will  be  a 

joy. 

We  are  all  getting  well  again.  I  drive  out  as  often  as  the  rain 
will  let  me,  and  take  my  children  with  me,  leaving  oue  at  home 
by  turns.  I  believe  I  have  the  trustiest  servants  in  the  mission, 
for  others  find  it  very  diflScult  to  go  out  without  taking  all  their 
children.  Mr.  J.  is  looking,  I  think,  much  younger  than  he  did 
in  America,  and  is  so  well  as  to  be  a  proverb  among  Europeans. 
For  myself,  I  feel  as  though  I  had  received  the  same  blessing 
that  Hezekiah  did,  and  I  am  anxious  to  improve  it  to  the  best 
advantage.  There  was  at  one  time  scarcely  the  slightest  hope 
of  my  recovery,  and  the  doctor  commissioned  Mrs.  Bennett  to 
tell  me  so.  But  I  feel  very  grateful  for  that  illness.  My 
Heavenly  Father  revealed  Himself  to  me  as  He  never  did  in 
health,  and  I  trust  that  the  influence  will  remain  upon  my 
spirit  for  ever.  I  am  grateful  for  recovery  too.  Even  inde- 
pendently of  my  family,  I  think  that  long  life  in  this  crisis  of 


GATHERING  CLOUDS.  307 

the  affairs  of  the  world,  and  especially  in  a  heathen  land,  is 
particularly  desirable.  O,  how  I  wish  that  you  could  be  here 
with  us !  It  seems  to  me  that  I  never  loved  you  quite  as  well 
as  now,  when  your  new  situation  and  prospects  remove  the 
probability  of  our  meeting,  except  in  heaven.  But  let  us  strive 
with  all  our  might  to  do  good,  darling,  that,  when  we  meet 
there,  we  may  make  glad  each  other's  hearts.  Give  love  to 
Hatty,  Fanny,  and  Mary,  and  beheve  me,  darling, 
Yours  most  lovingly, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 

to  her  sister. 

July  18, 1849. 

.  .  .  "The  goodman"  works  like  a  galley  slave ;  and  really 
it  quite  distresses  me  sometimes,  but  he  seems  to  get  fat  on  it, 
so  I  try  not  to  worry.  He  walks — or  rather  runs — like  a  boy 
over  the  hills,  a  mile  or  two  every  morning ;  then  down  to  his 
books,  scratch-scratch,  puzzle-puzzle,  and  when  he  gets  deep  in 
the  mire,  out  on  the  veranda  with  your  humble  servant  by  his 
side,  walking  and  talking  (kan-ing  we  call  it  in  the  Burman) 
till  the  point  is  elucidated,  and  then  down  again — and  so  on  till 
ten  o'clock  in  the  evening.  It  is  this  ivalking  which  is  keeping 
him  out  of  the  grave. 

For  myself,  I  am  very  well,  indeed,,  though  not  so  strong 
as  before  my  late  attack.  We  sometimes  think  that  I  have 
received  a  blow  from  which  I  shall  never  fully  recover,  though 
the  only  thing  which  makes  us  think  so  is  continued  sore  throat 
and  weakness  at  the  chest.  The  doctor  assures  us  that  I  am  in 
ho  more  danger  from  consumption  than  any  other  person  of 
equal  delicacy  of  constitution ;  but  physicians  are  not  in  gen- 
eral over  endowed  with  frankness. 

We  are  having  some  encouraging  tokens  in  the  Church. 
Three  have  been  lately  baptized ;  one  a  trader  from  Burmah 
proper,  who  yesterday  returned,  in  company  with  a  friend,  to 
his  home  on  the  Irrawadi.     The  friend  also  is,  in  all  proba- 


308  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

bility,  converted,  thougli  he  can  not  bring  himself  to  be  bap- 
tized. This  may  be  the  commencement  of  a  Church  (who 
knows)  away  np  the  river.     The  man  appears  well. 

I  should  like  nothing  better  than  to  write  such  letters  as 
father  wishes,  about  manners,  customs,  habits,  etc.,  but  you  can 
have  no  conception  of  the  busy  life  I  lead.  I  am  taking  a  very 
thorough  course  in  the  language,  which  the  natives  flatter  me 
by  saying  I  speak  elegantly.  The  other  day  I  turned  the 
"  Mother's  Litany,"  in  the  memoir,  into  Burmese,  to  be  sung  at 
my  maternal  meetings;  so  you  see  I  have  made  a  beginning  in 
poetry.  I  do  not  speak  as  readily  as  I  write,  however. 
Lovingly,  your  sister, 

Nemmy  C.  J. 

During  the  preceding  year  she  had  completed  her  pre- 
decessor's series  of  Scripture  Questions  on  the  historical 
parts  of  the  New  Testament,  and  Dr.  Judson  mention- 
ing this  and  other  feats  of  the  "  young  romance  writer," 
hopes  that  "  she  will  yet  come  to  some  good."  Apropos 
of  "romance"  writing, the  following  extracts  from  a  long 
letter,  written  July  18,  to  a  friend,  are  in  reply  to  some 
suggestions  regarding  her  peculiar  style.  They  are  a  just 
and  forcible  refutation  of  some  natural  prejudices,  and 
show  how  close  was  her  own  mental  analysis,  and  how 
accurately  she  discriminated  between  fancy  and  fiction  : 

.  .  .  Though,  as  in  the  case  of  the  late  memoir,  I  some- 
times embellish  my  style,  I  have  never  been  guilty  of  embel- 
lishing facts,  except  when  I  have  presented  them  in  the  guise 
of  fiction.  In  the  work  alluded  to  (than  which  a  more  truth- 
ful narrative  was  never  made),  I  had  my  reasons,  and  I  believe 
them  good  and  sound  ones,  for  departing  from  the  beaten  track 
of  compilers  ;  but  if  you  will  take  the  trouble  to  compare  my 
statements  with  those  of  other  writers,  you  will  find  mine 
always  moderate,  and  where  exactness  is  requisite,  exact.   .    .    . 


GATHERING  CLOUDS.  309 

You  need  never  fear  that  I  shall  turn  a  pile  of  slate-stone 
into  granite ;  but  you  may  be  sure,  if  I  ever  delineate  a  rock 
for  you,  that  so  far  as  my  power  of  using  language  enables  me 
to  express  myself  intelligibly,  you  will  have  it  as  you  would  see 
it  yourself — not  its  bulk,  magnitude,  and  learned  name  merely, 
but  every  thing  about  it — its  stains,  seams,  and  fractures  ;  the 
trailing  plant,  the  pendent  lichens,  the  patches  of  moss,  and  the 
spots  of  sunshine  playing  on  its  surface.  Allow  me  also  to  add 
that  however  free  the  use  I  make  of  nature's  pencil,  it  does 
not  necessarily  follow  that  my  touches  lack  mathematical  pre- 
cision, but  I  maintain  on  the  contrary  that  flowers  and  herbage, 
so  far  from  marring  the  correctness  of  the  naked  diagram,  are 
necessary  to  its  completeness. 

You  would  have  a  tiresome  task,  indeed,  if  you  were  to  set 
about  finding  Alderbrook  at  Hamilton ;  and  why  should  you 
expect  to  find  it  there  ?  The  Alderbrook  tales  being  professed 
fictions,  can  not  be  tried  by  the  same  rules  as  history,  nor  can 
they  be  classed  under  any  of  the  definitions  of  falsehood,  for 
they  are  not  only  destitute  of  the  intention  to  deceive,  but  they 
are  actually  destitute  of  the  power.  However,  I  will  acknowl- 
edge that  I  did  not  make  the  draft  on  my  inventive  powers 
which  was  my  right.  My  localities  are  in  the  main  correct, 
though,  as  I  was  under  no  obligation  to  be  precise,  they  are 
sometimes  altered  and  embellished  to  suit  the  occasion.  My 
characters  and  incidents  are  mostly  of  the  same  order,  having 
only  a  vail  thrown  about  them  to  prevent  their  being  recog- 
nized. About  five  miles  from  Hamilton  is  the  little  farm  on 
which  I  was  born,  with  a  trout-stream  bordered  by  spotted 
alders,  running  through  it,  and  the  very  odd-looking  house 
("  Underbill  Cottage"),  built  by  my  grandfather,  stuck  in  the 
side  of  the  hill.  It  was  one  of  the  last  places  I  visited  before 
taking  a  final  farewell  of  my  native  State ;  and  Mr.  J.  accom- 
panied me  across  the  creek  and  up  "  Strawberry  Hill,"  to  gain 
a  better  view  of  the  scenery  on  which  twenty  years  had  wrought 
so  little  change.     About  three  miles  north  of  this  is  the  village 


310  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   0.   JUDSON. 

where  I  was  bred,  and  which,  next  to  the  old  farm,  shares  in 
my  memories  of  the  past.  I  took  the  liberty  in  my  little 
sketches  to  unite  my  two  early  homes,  and  the  brook  with  its 
alders  supplied  me  with  a  name. 

The  innocence  or  the  usefulness  of  fiction,  in  at  least  one  of 
its  forms,  does  not  lie  open  to  discussion ;  for  the  question  has 
been  decided  by  the  Saviour  Himself.  But  how  far  this  mode 
of  teaching  should  be  used,  at  what  point  it  becomes  reprehen- 
sible, and  when  it  degenerates  into  a  vice,  has  puzzled  too 
many  wise  heads  to  allow  of  my  venturing  an  opinion.  Justice 
to  myself,  however,  impels  me  to  say  that  although  I  have  in- 
dulged somewhat  extensively  in  poetry,  novel  reading  has  never 
been  one  of  my  sins.  When  I  was  a  child,  I  waded  through 
the  voluminous  histories  of  Josephus  and  Rollin,  and  afterward 
I  took  up  the  principal  English  prose  writers  in  course,  be- 
ginning with  the  author  of  "  Utopia,"  and  ending  with  Edmund 
Burke,  whom  I  had  not  finished  when  I  left  America.  I  seldom 
more  than  looked  into  the  light  magazines,  to  which  for  about 
eighteen  months  I  contributed,  though  I  must  own  that  my 
avoidance  of  them  was  less  to  be  attributed  to  principle  than 
taste.  Those  who  have  not  confined  their  attention  to  books, 
or  a  select  circle  of  good  and  intelligent  persons,  but  have  had 
a  practical  education  in  the  world  of  men  and  women,  will 
pay  some  regard  to  the  wants  of  weak  intellects ;  and  I  will 
venture  to  assert  that  where  one  person  is  injured  by  insipid 
moral  tales,  a  hundred  persons  are  benefited. 

Some  superficial  thinkers,  disapproving  of  the  popular  maga- 
zine literature,  unconsciously  transfer  their  opinion  of  them  to 
the  individual  contributor.  If  I  have,  written  immoral  things, 
let  me  sufi'er  as  I  deserve ;  if  not,  do  not  let  the  odium  of  such 
writers  as  some  magazine  editors  tolerate  rest  on  me.  But 
even  my  own  productions,  though  I  am  answerable  for  all  that 
is  bad  in  them,  furnish  no  criterion  by  which  to  judge  my 
private  character.  In  truth,  no  two  persons  could  difi"er  more 
widely  on  most  points  than  the  fictitious  Fanny  Forester,  and 


GATHERING  CLOUDS.  311 

the  real  author  of  the  sketches.  And  in  this  I  do  not  stand 
alone.  Who  would  believe  tliat  the  venerable  author  of  "  Pro- 
verbial Philosophy"  was  a  young  and  handsome  dandy  1  or 
that  the  poet  Young,  who  was  perpetually  inveighing  against 
worldly  vanities,  at  the  same  time  crouched  to  the  very  dust 
before  the  great  in  order  to  gain  church  preferment,  and  actu- 
ally went  to  his  grave  crushed  beneath  a  load  of  mortified 
ambition?  It  is  well  known  that  Thompson  was,  to  say  the  least, 
indifferent  on  the  three  subjects  on  which  he  seemed  most  to 
dote  in  his  poetry  ;  and  Lockhart  asserts  that  "  L.  E.  L.,"  who 
has  excited  so  much  sympathy  on  account  of  the  doleful  style 
of  her  writings,  was  an  uncommonly  light-hearted  person.  In 
my  own  experience  as  a  teacher,  I  have  observed  that  the  gay- 
est of  my  pupils  usually  wrote  religious  compositions,  while 
the  sober  ones  frequently  chose  light  topics,  as  though  the 
effort  of  expressing  the  thoughts  threw  the  mind  out  of  its  usual 
track.  One  young  lady  in  particular,  singularly  quiet  and  de- 
mure, and  of  unquestionable  piety,  always  convulsed  the  school 
with  laughter.  •  I  am  not  advocating  these  incongruities,  nor 
will  I  attempt  to  explain  them  ;  I  only  mention  them  as  exhibit- 
ing a  phase  of  human  nature,  of  which,  especially  in  forming 
an  opinion  of  me  through  a  work  professedly  fictitious,  I  ought 
to  have  the  benefit.     .    .     . 


TO    HER   SISTER. 

Maulmain,  August  12, 1849. 

My  Dear  Katy, — 

I  told  you  last  month  that  I  could  not  write  the  sort  of 
letters  father  Wished,  for  want  of  time ;  but  I  have  thought  bet- 
ter of  it ;  and  if  he  will  promise  not  to  expect  more  of  me  than 
could  in  reason  be  asked  of  a  person  who  uses  the  pen  on  one 
subject,  the  thoughts  on  another,  and  the  tongue  on  a  third,  I 
will  see  what  my  unguided  "  diamond  point "  will  strike  out  for 
him  of  its  own  accord.     First  then  to  the  dress,  which  he  will 


312  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

say  is  always  uppermost  in  a  woman's  mind,  and  with  certain 
restrictions  and  qualifications  "  I  canna  althegither  denee  the 
truth  o't." 

The  men  invariably  (to  begin  at  the  top)  wear  turbans, 
though  not  always  the  pure  muslin  of  Moung  Shway-moung 
and  Moung  Chet-thing,  whose  head-gear  while  in  America  you 
will  doubtless  remember.  Turbans  of  that  character,  except  on 
special  occasions,  are  very  scarce.  They  are  a  gentlemanly 
article,  while  those  worn  by  "the  great  unwashed"  are  but  lit- 
tle above  the  size  of  a  pocket-handerchief,  and  disposed  of  in 
various  fashions.  The  turban,  however,  I  must  say  in  short, 
varies  from  several  yards  in  size  to  a  wisp  twisted  like  a  cable, 
or  a  small  fillet  confining  the  hair  around  the  brow.  It  is  usu- 
ally white,  though  sometimes  red  (which  is  not  so  nice) ;  and  I 
have  seen  some  in  Rangoon  of  lace  and  thin  muslin  spotted 
with  gold.  The  hair,  ^hich  is  allowed  to  gix)w — the  longer 
the  better — is  seldom  disposed  of  in  the  folds  of  the  turban,  but 
confined  in  a  knot  or  club  on  the  top  of  the  head,  of  the  size  of 
which  they  are  very  proud.  The  ears  both  of  riien  and  women 
have  an  immense  hole  bored  in  the  soft  part,  through  which  a 
plug  of  gold  the  size  of  your  finger,  having  a  precious  stone  in 
each  end,  is  thrust — thai;  is,  the.  wealthy  wear  this  ornament ; 
but  the  poorer  classes  use  various  substitutes,  even  to  a  roll  of 
pasteboard  or  a  bit  of  segar.  And  here  I  may  as  well  say  that 
the  natives  generally,  even  those  who  are  poorest  to  appear- 
ance, own  jewelry  more  or  less!  not  merely  for  ornament's 
sake,  but  because  it  is  convenient  and  portable,  and  they  can 
raise  money  on  it  at  any  moment.  Men  shave  more  or  less, 
and  wear  their  beards — of  which  some  of  them  seem  to  be  as 
proud  as  their  more  civilized  brethren — in  every  variety  of 
fashion. 

Their  jacket  or  tunic  {engyee^  they  call  it),  is  usually  of  white 
long-cloth,  with  two  or  three  pairs  of  strings  in  front  by  which 
it  is  confined  at  the  throat  and  breast,  and  then  allowed  to  fol- 
low its  own  way,  parting  and  floating  back,  to  my  thinking,  in 


GATHERING   CLOUDS.  313 

a  way  very  tasteful.  There  is  a  sort  of  stomaclier  or  chemisette 
crossing  the  breast.  Sometimes  the  tunic  reaches '  only  a  little 
below  the  waist,  sometimes  down  to  the  knees — usually  it  takes 
a  medium  between  the  two.  Men  seldom  wear  this  when  at 
labor,  and  frequently  dispense  with  it  even  when  they  consider 
themselves  dressed^  arranging  the  waist  cloth  in  a  way  to  reme- 
dy the  deficiency.  The  waist  cloth  is  the  great  article  of  dress. 
And  when  I  use  this  word  for  want  of  a  better  (the  Burmans 
call  it  a  pa-tso),  I  beg  you  will  not  think  of  the  hit  rag  you 
usually  see  in  pictures  of  the  heathen.  This  cloth,  which  is 
usually  of  very  gay-colored  silk,  is  eight  yards  long  when  pur- 
chased. The  only  making  up  it  requires  is  to  sew  the  two  sides 
together  without  cutting  it,  so  that  the  width  can  cover  the 
whole  person  from  the  waist  to  the  heel,  while  the  closed  end 
serves  as  a  bag  which  may  hold  the  betel-box,  etc.  This  gar- 
ment is  worn  in  a  great  variety  of  ways.  It  is  knotted  up 
before  ;  and  sometimes  falls  over  each  leg  like  a  pair  of  flowing 
trowsers,  sometimes  hangs  from  the  waist  like  a  woman's  skirt, 
and  is  sometimes  twisted  into  as  small  a  compass  as  possible  to 
allow  free  play  to  the  limbs.  Very  commonly  one  end  is  thrown 
foppishly  over  the  shoulder.  A  close  observer  will  not  un  fre- 
quently find  in  the  mode  of  wearing  the  pa-tso  a  clue  to  the 
character  of  its  owner.  This  silk  is  of  Burmese  manufacture, 
coarse,  soft,  of  fast  colors,  and  bears  washing  well.  It  is  usu- 
ally woven  in  checks  or  stripes.  They  have  a  way  of  making 
zig-zag  stripes  to  appear  like  rays  of  light,  a  shading  in  of  all 
the  intermediate  colors  between  pale  lemon  and  deep  crimson, 
which  almost  dazzles  the  eyes.  I  went  one  day  to  buy  one  of 
these  for  you,  but  could  not  get  it  for  less  than  twenty  rupees 
(about  ten  dollars),  so  I  had  to  give  it  up.  Cotton  cloths  are 
worn  also,  but  a  man  would  be  a  poor  wretch  indeed  not  to 
own  a  silk  pa-tso. 

The  Burmans  never  wear  stockings  or  any  thing  of  the  kind 
about  the  ankles.  The  most  common  kind  of  shoe  or  sandal  is 
the  one  I  sent  father,  though  they  are  variously  embroidered 

14 


% 


314  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

and  sometimes  gilded.  They  have  a  piece  of  wood  about  an 
inch  thick  attached  to  the  bottoms  to  wear  as  we  wear  India 
rubbers.  They  manufacture  umbrellas  very  much  like  those  of 
the  Chinese,  which  I  think  you  have  seen,  but  rather  coarser. 
The  betel-box  is  always  carried,  either  by  the  person  himself  or 
a  servant,  just  as  an  old  lady  at  home  carries  her  snuflf-box. 
Chewing  betel  and  smoking  cigars  is  universal  among  men, 
women,  and  children  as  soon  as  they  are  weaned.  The  betel 
gi'ows  like  a  vine.  They  use  both  nut  and  leaf,  and  spread  it 
with  a  preparation  the  ingredients  of  which  I  do  not  know.  I 
believe  you  have  a  lacquered  box  or  two.  Those  used  for  betel 
would  hold  about  a  pint  of  liquid.  I  will  for  curiosity's  sake 
furnish  a  betel-box  and  send  it  to  you  by  the  first  opportunity. 
They  put  a  small  metallic  box  inside  to  contain  the  preparation 
I  have  mentioned. 

August  20.  I  have  just  come  in  from  my  morning  exercise, 
and  the  whole  town  is  in  a  stir  because  it  is  a  Moorman  holiday. 
I  wish  you  could  have  been  with  me.  The  Moguls  and  other 
Moormen  dress  magnificently.  One  dress  will  serve  to  give  an 
idea  of  the  whole,  though  there  is  an  endless  variety  of  colors, 
etc.  A  crimson  satin  tunic  with  wide  sleeves  open  on  the  back 
and  laced — cuff  turned  up  with  green  satin  facing,  and  edge 
trimmed  with  variegated  cord.  Tunic  long,  reaching  to  jjfLQ 
ankles,  and  slashed  in  a  way  to  display  wide  striped-silk  trow- 
sers,  looking  for  all  the  world  like  a  pair  of  rainbows  wrought 
into  loose  drapery.  Sandals — or  rather  slippers  turned  up 
nearly  a  quarter  of  a  yard  at  the  toes,  and  glittering  with  gold 
and  silver  embroidery.  A  gilded  cap,  or  rather  rimless  hat, 
appearing  as  though  braided  of  wide  stripes  of  gold.  Buttons, 
tassels,  etc.,  in  keeping  with  the  rest  of  the  finery.  The  chil- 
dren are  all  gorgeously  dressed,  and  weighed  down  with  brace- 
lets, anklets,  necklaces,  finger-rings,  toe-rings,  etc.  The  streets 
are  crowded  with  beggars,  lepers,  and  all  sorts  of  miserable 
objects,  their  feet  or  hands  literally  eaten  off  with  disease.  *  *  * 


GATHERING    CLOUDS.  315 

Maulmain,  September  21,  1849. 

Dear  Katy, — 

I  am  heartily  disgusted  with,  all  descriptions,  and  if  I  had 
not  promised,  the  Burman  women's  dress  might  go  to  the  dogs. 
But  luckily  they  do  not  wear  much,  and,  as  a  stable  boy  would 
say,  "  a  short  horse  is  soon  curried."  They  are  rather  small  of 
stature,  so  much  so  that  they  look  upon  English  ladies  with 
wonder,  and  say  that  Mrs.  Moore  and  I  are  the  only  women  of 
the  mission  whose  size  is  at  all  endurable.  Their  hair  is  straight 
and  black ;  it  is  carefully  oiled,  combed  directly  back  from  the 
temples,  and  confined  in  a  knot  on  the  top  of  the  head. 
They  are  fond  of  decorating  the  hair  with  flowers.  They  wear 
ear  ornaments  similar  to  those  of  the  men,  and  those  who  are 
able  to  afford  it  wear  a  half  dozen  different  necklaces,  magnifi- 
cent ornaments  for  the  head,  finger-rings,  etc.  The  chief  article 
of  dress  is  the  ta-ming  (t'ming),  a  species  of  petticoat,  of  the 
gayest  colored  silk,  with  a  deep  border  at  the  bottom  and  a  top 
of  crimson  cloth,  which  is  gathered  in  folds  about  the  breast. 
The  engyee  or  tunic  is  very  much  like  that  worn  by  the  men, 
though  sometimes  made  of  thinner  material — jaconet,  gold- 
sprigged  lace,  black  lace,  yellow  gauze,  etc.  They  usually  fling 
a  light  scarf,  silk  handkerchief,  or  small  shawl  over  one  shoulder. 
Tj^gir  sandals  are  mostly  like  those  of  the  men.  Burmans 
always  leave  these  outside  the  door,  for,  in  their  estimation,  it 
is  as  bad  breeding  to  wear  shoes  into  a  house  as,  in  ours,  it  is  to 
wear  their  hats.  It  is  curious  to  see  a  Burman  lady,  a  bride 
for  instance,  magnificently  dressed,  and  her  great  black  feet 
bare. 

The  dress  of  the  Burman  women  is  pretty  and  coquettish, 
but  decidedly  objectionable  on  the  scoce  of  modesty,  if  not  of 
decency.  .  .  .  The  women  are  spirited,  lively,  fond  of  laugh- 
ing and  talking,  and,  although  shockingly  quarrelsome  as  wives, 
in  the  main  good-natured.  They  are  as  intelligent  as  could  be 
expected  in  their  circumstances.  Boys  are  always  taught  to 
read — girls  seldom.     Children  seldom  wear  any  kind  of  cloth- 


316  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

ing  till  seven  or  eight  years  old,  though  they  are  profusely 
decorated  with  necklaces,  bracelets,  anklets,  etc.  I  have  seen 
children  with  rich  silk  velvet  jackets  just  covering  the  hips,  and 
no  other  article  of  dress,  aside  from  jewelry. 

Your  loving  sister, 

Nemmy. 


TO    MISS    ANABLE. 

Mattlmain,  September  21,  1849. 

My  Dear  Ninny, — 

.  .  .  I  will  tell  you  as  nearly  as  I  can  how  I  am,  and 
then  you  will  be  able  to  judge  as  well  as  we  can  of  the  result. 
I  have  a  slight  cough,  sometimes  with  bloody  expectorations, 
and  a  continued  pain  in  my  right  side — the  latter.  Dr.  M.  says, 
occasioned  by  congestion  of  the  liver.  My  stomach  is  very 
weak  and  so  sensitive  to  the  touch  that  I  seldom  wear  a  tight 
dress,  and  my  throat  is  shockingly  ulcerated.  I  have  a  slight 
difficulty  of  breathing,  and  just  now  can  not  read  aloud  at  all.  The 
physician  says  that  my  lungs  are  perfectly  sound,  but  admits 
that  there  is  more  danger  of  their  becoming  diseased  than  there 
would  be  if  my  throat  was  well,  and  every  fresh  attack  on  my 
throat  is  worse  than  the  last,  although  he  succeeds  tolerably 
well  in  subduing  the  fever.  I  am  not  so  thin  as  I  was,^d 
some  of  my  worst  symptoms,  such  as  night  sweats,  have  totally 
disappeared.  I  work  little,  study  little,  walk  in  the  veranda 
for  exercise,  drive  out  every  day,  and  keep  in  excellent  spirits. 
I  suppose  it  would  not  be  a  surprising  thing  if  I  were  to  die  in 
a  few  weeks,  nor  be  considered  a  miraculous  interposition  if  I 
were  to  live  to  be  eighty  years  old — so  much  seemingly 
depends  on  accidental  causes.     .     .     . 

You  ask  how  I  felt  when  looking  into  the  grave.  We  had 
expected  for  some  time  previous  to  my  going  to  Tavoy  that  I 
was  in  a  fatal  decline,  and  I  had  endeavored  to  prepare  myself 
for  it.  I  grew  worse  on  the  passage,  but  still  did  not  think 
myself  in  any  particular  danger  till  the  physician  at  Tavoy 


GATHERING   CLOUDS.  317 

commissioned  Mrs.  Bennett  to  tell  me  what  he  thought  of  my 
case.  I  was  inexpressibly  shocked ;  for  it  seemed  doubtful 
whether  I  should  ever  get  back  to  Maulmain,  or  see  my  hus- 
band. Mrs.  Bennett  soon  left  me  alone,  and  little  Frances,  who 
was  just  beginning  to  walk,  and  very  proud  of  it,  toddled  to  the 
side  of  my  couch,  and  seemed  disappointed  that  I  did  not  laugh 
and  praise  her.  I  put  my  arm  around  her,  and  she  laid  her 
little  soft  cheek  coaxingly  on  mine,  as  though  she  understood 
that  I  was  in  trouble.  Then  was  a  struggle ;  it  seemed  that 
my  very  heart  would  burst.  I  tried  to  tell  Henry  something 
about  it,  but  he  could  not  understand,  and  only  tortured  me  with 
questions  about  the  funeral,  etc.  I  got  a  little  better  before  I 
left  Tavoy,  and  Mrs.  B.  was  somewhat  relieved,  though  I  pre- 
sume she  still  considered  me  in  a  settled  consumption.  After  I 
reached  home  I  became  a  good  deal  calmed,  and  quite  reconciled 
to  leave  both  husband  and  children,  if  it  should  be  the  will  of 
God ;  but  still  I  can  not  say  that  there  was  any  time  when  I 
should  not  have  rejoiced  at  the  prospect  of  recovery.  You  will 
think  it  strange,  but  it  is  nevertheless  true,  that,  during  most 
part  of  the  time,  I  felt  greater  reluctance  to  leave  my  mission 
work  than  to  leave  my  family.  Yet  "we  have  been  so,  so 
happy !"  "  and  the  time  has  been  so  short !"  we  used  to  say  to 

S  other  with  aching  hearts  many  times  a  day.  Then  I  would 
;h  the  poor  children  at  their  play,  until  the  tears  came  and 
blinded  me.  Sometimes  I  had  enrapturing  views  of  heaven,  and 
my  heart  bounded  with  joy  (for  I  never  had  any  doubts  respect- 
ing my  future  state).  The  horror  of  death  that  I  used  to  tell 
you  about  was  to  a  great  extent  taken  away ;  but  still  death  is 
the  curse  of  sin,  and  can  not  but  be  dreaded  except  as  its  hideous 
features  are  lost  in  the  glory  of  the  resurrection.  I  believe  a 
long  life  to  be  a  great  blessing,  and  in  this  age  of  the  world, 
especially  for  a  missionary,  inexpressibly  great.  I  pray  daily 
that  I  may  be  spared  for  many  years  to  my  husband,  to  my 
children,  and  to  my  work ;  and  I  have  no  hesitation  in  putting 
up  this  prayer,  for  you  know  we  are  commanded  to  "  be  anxious 


318  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

for  nothing ;  but  in  all  things  to  make  known  our  requests  to 
God."  If,  notwithstanding  this  desire  to  live  on  my  part, 
my  Heavenly  Father  sees  fit  to  remove  me.  He  will  do  it  in 
infinite  wisdom  and  in  infinite  love — for  my  good  and  the  good 
of  His  cause;  and  I  can  add  most  heartily,  "His  will  be 
done."     .     .     . 

Aflfectionately, 

Nemmy. 

The  reader  of  Dr.  Judson's  memoir  will  recollect  the 
sad  forebodings  of  some  of  his  letters,  regarding  the 
results  of  her  illness.  "  A  dark  cloud,"  lie  writes  to 
Miss  Anable,  "is  gathering  around  me.  A  crushing 
weight  is  upon  me.  I  can  not  resist  the  dreadful  convic- 
tion that  dear  Emily  is  in  a  settled  decline."  The  cloud 
which  thus  lowered  upon  Ms  prospects  past  away  :  but 
it  soon  gathered  with  triple  blackness  over  hers.  How 
happy,  how  "deliciously  happy"  a  home  this  dark  provi- 
dence breaks  up,  is  sufficiently  evident  from  all  their 
correspondence. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

SELF-COMMUNINGS. 
"  My  soul  aud  I." 

The  following  journal  will  shed  an  interesting  light 
upon  Mrs.  Judson's  religious  history  at  this  time.  It 
shows  at  once  her  spiritual  aspirations,  and  the  tendency 
of  her  mind  to  abstruse,  yet  cautious  speculation : 

JOURNAL. 

Maulmain,  March  25th,  1849. 

I  have  been  for  some  time  past  steadfastly  looking  into  my 
grave;  with  the  expectation  of  being  shortly  laid  there;  and 
there  left — in  silence,  and  darkness,  and  loneliness,  till  the  resur- 
rection morning.  Only  the  shell,  the  cast-off  garment  there ! 
Ay,  but  it  is  a  shell  into  which  the  Son  of  God  has  seen  fit  to 
send  back  the  principle  of  life,  and  whi(5h  He  will  render  im- 
mortal. Death  is  a  curse — the  most  awful  curse  that  divine 
justice  could  inflict ;  and  though  the  blessed  Saviour  has  de- 
prived it  of  its  sting,  has  gained  a  glorious  victory  for  us,  the 
triumph  can  not  be  complete  till  bone  is  gathered  to  bone,  and 
sinew  to  sinew,  and  we  rise  to  meet  Him  in  the  air.  We  natur- 
ally shrink  from  death,  as  the  wounded  man  shrinks  from  the 
hand  of  the  surgeon.  Can  this  shrinking  be  entirely  overcome  ? 
Have  men  actually  risen  so  high  by  faith,  as  in  the  dying  hour 
to  be  insensible  to  the  pain  and  shame  of  their  punishment  ? 


320  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

or  are  their  beatific  visions  and  their  rejoicings  to  be  in  a  degree 
ascribed  to  tbe  peculiar  state  of  the  physical  powers,  the  influ- 
ence of  the  nervous  system  on  the  mind,  in  the  moment  of  dis- 
solution 1  It  is  a  terrible  thing  to  die !  Am  I,  then,  afraid  ? 
No,  but  I  am  filled  with  solemn  awe. 

March  27.  Am  I  afraid  to  die?  My  husband  will  lay  me 
in  the  grave,  and  return  to  his  house,  leaving  me  away  in  that 
cold  place,  alone,  beside  the  half  mouldered  bones  of  little 
Charlie.*  He  will  be  very  sad  and  desolate — O,  too  sad  !  and 
yet  my  image  will  gradually  fade  from  his  mind — keep  fading 
— fading — the  tones  of  my  voice  will  be  lost,  and  our  precious 
little  conversations  will  mingle  with  the  gray  of  the  past,  and 
become  pleasant  dreams. 

My  children  will  look  about  for  their  mother,  and  perhaps 
cry ;  and  then  they  will  forget  me.  They  will  be  in  trouble, 
and  I  can  not  help  them ;  they  will  sin,  and  I  can  not  teach  and 
discipline  them ;  they  will  feel  sorrow  for  their  sin,  and  I  can 
not  pray  with  them  and  point  them  away  to  Christ.  I  am  not 
afraid  to  die,  but  I  am  very  sad. 

March  28.  Mah  Zaat  says  I  talk  of  death  so  calmly  because 
my  life  has  been  so  pure.  Pure !  Is  there  so  great  a  sinner  in 
the  world  as  I?  One  who  has  sinned  against  so  much  light? 
Converted  in  early  childhood,  educated  amidst  a  blaze  of  gospel 
light,  prayed  for  by  a  numerous  company  now  in  glory,  OTd 
still  prayed  for  by  saints  on  earth.  I  have  no  doubt  but  I 
shall  get  to  heaven  through  Christ,  but  I  have  reason  to  believe 
that  I  shall  occupy  a  very  low  place  there.  I  can  not  condemn 
myself  for  idleness :  mine  has  been  a  busy,  working  life ;  but 
such  a  waste  of  toil  and  vigor ! — such  a  squandering  of  influ- 
ence !  How  much  good  I  might  have  done,  if  my  heart  had 
only  been  the  dwelling-place  of  the  Holy  Spirit !  I  shudder 
and  groan  within  myself  when  I  think  of  it.  Oh !  to  live  a 
little  longer  and  do  good  ! 

April  1.  I  am  slowly  gaining  strength,  and  begin  to  weigh 
*  A  son  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  S.  B.  Judson,  buried  at  Maulmain. 


SELF-COMMUNINGS.  321 

the  probability  of  recovery.  If  it  is  the  will  of  God,  I  should 
wish  to  live.  He  can  soothe  my  husband's  heart  and  be  the 
Guardian  of  my  children,  and  He  can  dispense  with  my  weak, 
puny  eftbrts  in  the  Church.  He  can  also  light  the  dark  pas- 
sage of  the  grave,  and  make  the  prospect  of  going  to  my  rest 
delicious  to  my  soul.  But  I  should  count  it  an  invaluable 
blessing  to  be  allowed  to  maintain  my  place  a  little  longer — to 
do  something  for  Christ  before  I  die.  Perhaps  my  Heavenly 
Father  designs  to  grant  me  this  favor;  perhaps  the  draught 
which  we  have  long  been  preparing  to  drink  in  tearful  submis- 
siveness,  may  be  withheld.  "  If  it  be  possible,  let  this  cup  pass 
from  me;  nevertheless,  not  my  will,  but  Thine,  oh,  God!  be 
done." 

April  3.  Mah  Zaat  has  been  asking  about  the  separate  state, 
and  seems  disappointed  that  I  could  tell  her  so  little.  I  have 
had  something  like  her  feelings  on  this  subject.  If  we  had 
only  been  told  as  much  about  the  dying  as  about  the  resur- 
rection hour !  This  silence  and  mystery  constitute  much  of 
the  awfulness  of  death — horrible  to  the  sinner,  and  a  subject  for 
the  exercise  of  the  Christian's  faith.  But  since  we  shall  be  with 
Christ,  what  more  need  we  to  know  ?  Sleep  in  Jesus !  Per- 
haps it  will  be  an  unconscious  sleep,  and  we  shall  seem  to  our- 
selves to  step  from  our  dying  bed  and  weeping  friends,  to  the 
glories  of  the  resurrection.  Perhaps  it  will  be  a  conscious  state 
of  rest  and  subdued  blissfulness — a  baptism  of  the  disembodied 
soul  in  Christ.  We  can  scarcely  suppose  it  a  state  of  impove- 
ment  or  growth,  or  in  any  way  a  state  of  activity.  Such  a 
supposition  would  seem  not  in  accordance  with  God's  great 
plan.  To  be  with  Christ !  My  heart  swells  at  the  thought. 
I  long  to  be  with  Christ — to  rest  in  His  bosom.  "We  shall  need 
a  long  rest,  after  escaping  from  the  shackles  of  sin,  before  we 
are  in  a  state  to  enjoy  the  full  fruition  of  the  redeemed. 

April  4.  Mah  Zwoon  came  in  to-day,  and,  after  looking  at 
me  some  time,  shook  her  head  sorrowfully  and  remarked,  "  I 
am  afraid  we  never  shall  have  the  second  part  of  *  Pilgrim's 

14* 


322  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

Progress  now."  Since  I  told  the  women  there  was  another 
part  about  Christian's  wife  and  children,  they  have  been  very- 
anxious  to  obtain  it,  and  I  promised  to  translate  it  as  soon  as  I 
was  sufficiently  versed  in  the  language. 

April  7.  The  cloud  is  a  little  lifted.  I  am  still  growing 
stronger  and  stronger.  Strange  that  my  heart  bounds  back  to 
earth  so  joyfully,  when  I  have  been  accustoming  myself  to  the 
thought  of  being  with  Christ,  and  being  "  like  Him,  for  I  shall 
see  Him  as  He  is."  I  do  not  love  the  world  in  one  sense  ;  but 
the  thought  of  leaving  it  does  not  make  me  joyous,  nor  have  I 
acquired  that  indifference  to  it  which  Doddridge  makes  one  evi- 
dence of  growth  in  grace.  It  is  not  so  much  that  my  family 
ties  are  so  strong ;  but  I  can  not  but  feel  that  my  work  is  unfin- 
ished— the  shock  of  corn  would  be  cut  down  before  it  was  fully 
ripe.  I  seem  just  on  the  threshold  of  the  very  kind  of  useful- 
ness I  have  nearly  all  my  life  longed  for ;  and  I  ardently  desire 
the  honor  of  gathering  a  few  sheaves  for  my  Saviour. 

"Not  of  works,  lest  any  man  should  boast."  Works,  indeed ! 
The  very  privilege  of  working  is  only  an  additional  display  of 
grace ;  but  I  do  so  long  for  this  privilege,  for  it  is  sweet  to 
receive  favors  at  the  hand  of  Christ.  The  more  I  feel  in- 
debted to  Him,  the  more  I  love  Him ;  but  I  know  there  are 
innumerable  ways  in  which  to  increase  my  obligations.  If  He 
should  prefer  to  take  me  to  Himself  rather  than  let  me  remain 
here  longer,  I  shall  see  the  wisdom  of  it  hereafter,  and  praise 
Him  throughout  eternity  for  removing  me  from  some  unseen 
evil  to  come.  If  my  Saviour  call,  I  shall  know  that  my  work 
is  finished,  and  go  willingly ;  but  until  He  call,  I  pray  for  length 
of  days,  and  a  wide  field  of  usefulness. 

April  10.  I  am  feeling  very  ill.  The  fever  has  returned, 
and  my  cough  is  worse.  The  appearance  of  recovery  might 
have  been  one  of  those  delusions  to  which  persons  in  pulmon- 
ary diseases  are  peculiarly  subject.  Father  in  heaven,  prepare 
me  for  cheerful  obedience  to  Thy  will. 

April  11.     I  have  been  trying  to  recollect  what  I  have  done 


SELF-COMMUNINGS.  323 

for  Christ  in  the  course  of  my  long  and  toilsome  life,  and  the 
retrospect  is  sickening.  How  soon  I  may  meet  my  Beloved  and 
my  Judge  I  do  not  know,  but  the  expectation  covers  me  with 
confusion.  Oh,  it  is  a  solemn  thing  to  pass  from  one's  probation 
— to  feel  that  the  last  leaf  is  written  and  the  book  about  to  be 
sealed  for  the  judgment. 

April  24.  Since  my  illness  I  have  had  some  views  on  the 
subject  of  laboring  for  Christ,  which,  if  not  altogether  new  to  me, 
are  stronger  and  more  definite  than  those  I  formerly  entertained. 
Glorifying  God,  doing  good  to  others,  and  receiving  a  reflex 
good,  have  chiefly  occupied  my  attention,  while  I  have  scarcely 
thought,  till  now,  of  the  peculiar  honor  conferred  on  the  indi- 
vidual who  is  selected  to  be  a  co-worker  with  the  Son  in  adding 
to  the  declarative  glory  of  the  Father.  God  has  no  need  of  us ; 
He  could  establish  His  kingdom  just  as  well  without  us ;  but, 
with  infinite  condescension.  He  has  included  our  weak,  imper- 
fect, sin-polluted  labors  in  His  plan.  How  are  we  honored  by 
such  distinction  !  and  how  cheerfully  and  gratefully  should  we 
toil,  feeling  that  our  Father  bestows  a  peculiar  blessing  on  us 
when  He  trusts  the  meanest  part  of  His  glorious  work  to  our 
hands.  He  gives  it  to  us  because  He  loves  us — ^because  He 
wishes  to  gratify  us  here,  and  to  enhance  our  blessedness  here- 
after. And  we  should  watch  meekly  for  such  work,  and  pray 
that  it  may  be  given  to  our  hands.  It  is  never  sent  in  an 
obtrusive  way ;  but  it  ever  waits  humbly  before  us ;  and  many 
is  the  time  we  brush  it  rudely  aside,  or  crush  it  beneath  the 
bustling  foot,  because  it  seems  trivial  to  us,  and  we  do  not  see 
that  it  is  from  God. 

April  27.  I  have  just  been  unpleasantly  struck  by  a  remark 
on  the  first  page  of  Payson's  "  Selections,"  etc. :  "  Look  back 
to  the  time,"  he  says,  "  when  God  existed  independent  and 
alone ;  when  there  was  nothing  but  God  ;  no  heavens,  no  earth, 
no  angels,  no  men."  What  reason  have  we  to  suppose  that 
there  was  ever  a  point  in  eternity  when  God  was  such  a  solitary 
being  ?     Is  the  idea  that  He  has  been  creating  from  eternity 


324  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.  JUDSON. 

more  difficult  to  conceive  than  the  fact  of  His  simple  existence  ? 
Our  finite  minds  can  not  comprehend  either.  Neither  can  we 
conceive  how  the  works  of  such  a  powerful  and  benevolent 
Being  could  have  had  a  beginning ;  for  wherever  we  place  the 
date,  however  far  back  in  eternity,  there  is  still  an  antecedent 
eternity  in  which  He  was  idle — in  which,  as  far  as  we  can  see, 
many  of  His  attributes  could  not  have  existed.  So  far  as  we 
can  see! — and  how  far  is  that? — the  circle  described  by  the 
sweep  of  a  midget's  wing.  We  know  of  the  existence  of  God 
in  three  persons.  We  know  God  the  Father,  because  He  is  our 
Creator  and  Preserver ;  we  know  God  the  Son,  because  He  is  our 
Redeemer ;  and  we  know  God  the  Holy  Spirit,  because  He  is 
our  Comforter.  We  know  the  angels,  because  some  of  them 
seduced  us  to  evil,  and  still  follow  us,  heaping  evil  on  our  heads, 
and  because  those  that  "kept  their  first  estate"  are  "ministering 
spirits"  to  us ;  and  these  are  all  the  beings  in  the  universe  of  the 
omnipotent  God  of  whose  existence  we  have  been  informed. 
We  know  nothing  here  except  what  concerns  our  poor,  puny 
selves,  but  hereafter  we  shall  be  taught  the  things  of  God.  Oh, 
what  a  glorious  study  ! 

April  28.  To  think  that  a  God  of  infinite  benevolence  has 
passed  an  eternity  without  exercising  that  beautiful  attribute  is 
to  me  utterly  impossible.  We  know  that  He  delights  in  seeing 
His  creatures  happy,  and  studies,  if  we  may  so  speak,  to  render 
them  happy ;  and  that  He  has  been  thus  from  all  eternity  is  the 
only  view  that  seems  to  me  consistent  with  His  character.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  if  He  has  been  eternally  creating,  there  are 
eternal  creatures  ;  and  this  seems  like  an  absurdity.  How  do 
we  know  but  Lucifer  was  such  a  creature  ;  and  from  this  cir- 
cumstance conceived  the  possibility  of  being  able  to  compete 
with  his  self-existent  Creator  %  I  lose  myself  in  the  maze  of 
thought,  and  my  poor,  little,  narrow  mind  aches  from  being 
stretched  so  far.  Oh,  what  poor,  contemptible  creatures  we 
are ! — not  as  God  made  us,  but  as  we  have,  through  Satan's 
influence,  made  ourselves  ;  and  yet  how  we  strut  and  swell,  and 


SELF-COMMUNINGS.  325 

glory  in  each  other's  praises,  till,  if  ridicule  could  take  the  place 
of  pity  in  such  benevolent  minds,  we  should  have  all  the  hosts 
of  Heaven  staring  and  laughing  at  us.  But  no ;  like  their 
blessed  Master,  they  pity  us,  and  because  they  know  He  loved 
us,  notwithstanding  all  our  follies,  they  hover  about  us,  and 
whoever  among  us  have  truly  received  His  mark,  are  sure  to  be 
continually  encircled  by  unseen  angel-wings. 

April  29.  I  have  had  evidence  to-day  that  holy  angels  are 
not  the  only  "  ministering  spirits"  we  have.  Satan  too  sends 
out  his  envoys,  and  they  are  quite  as  busy  as  the  others,  with 
the  superior  advantage  of  finding  an  answering  voice  within 
us.  Little  do  we  dream  of  the  spiritual  warfare  continually 
carried  on  in  our  presence !  The  apostle  does  not  represent 
the  enemy  of  our  souls  as  an  inferior  being,  the  dirty,  contemp- 
tible being  that  we  are  accustomed  to  think  him.  He  says  we 
wrestle  "  against  principalities,  against  powers,  against  spiritual 
wickedness  in  high  places."  Our  adversary  is  no  shadowy, 
half-apocryphal  being,  whose  very  existence  may  be  suspected 
to  depend  on  the  evil  in  our  own  hearts.  He  is  a  real  living 
creature,  made  by  the  same  Hand  that  made  us,  and  placed  far 
above  us  at  the  head  of  the  heavenly  hosts.  He  is  fallen  now, 
and  the  whole  strength  of  his  mighty  intellect  is  directed 
against  us :  he  taxes  all  his  power  and  all  his  ingenuity  to 
compass  our  destruction,  because  of  the  bitter  hatred  he  bears 
to  Him  who  hath  loved  us  from  eternity.  And  with  the  com- 
pany of  once  glorious  beings  that  he  drew  away  from  heaven, 
he  has  ample  resources  at  his  command  ;  and  could  doubtless 
at  this  very  moment  cope  with  any  and  all  the  beings  in  the 
universe,  except  the  omnipotent  God.  Oh,  how  humble  we 
should  be,  and  how  implicitly  we  should  obey  the  lowest  whis- 
per from  heaven,  lest  we  should  join  our  enemy,  and  try  to 
defeat  the  benevolent  plans  of  the  Great  General  who  has 
undertaken  to  conduct  our  otherwise  desperate  warfare ! 

May  3.  I  suspect  it  is  not  quite  right  to  be  strongly  de- 
sirous of  living,   even  though  it  be  but  to  do  good.    True 


326  LIFE  OF  MES.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

benevolence  would  make  us  as  glad  to  see  others  employed  in 
the  active  service  of  the  Redeemer  as  ourselves ;  and  if  He 
chooses  others  to  do  the  work,  what  claim  have  we  to  prefer  ? 
Why  should  we  not  go  to  our  graves  gladly,  and  leave  our 
places  to  those  whom  He  designs  to  honor  above  ourselves? 
And  yet  He  loves  to  have  us  ask  all  good  things  of  Him  ;  and 
I  know  of  no  higher  good  than  to  be  an  humble  instrument  in 
His  hands  to  promote  the  interests  of  His  most  glorious  cause, 
and  to  save  the  souls  of  men. 

March  5.  The  newspapers  say  the  discoveries  in  California 
have  made  men  mad.  The  same  papers  said  three  years  ago 
that  poor,  little,  insignificant  "  Fanny  Forester"  was  mad — or 
romantic,  which  is  only  a  pretty  word  for  insanity.  I  wonder 
if  they  would  class  my  madness  and  that  of  the  gold  diggers 
under  the  same  head.  O !  that  I  may  resemble  the  Californian 
madmen  in  all  but  the  groveling  nature  of  their  object ;  and 
while  they  are  laying  up  treasure  on  earth,  may  I  be  gathering 
gold  and  jewels  which  shall  outshine  the  stars,  and  outweigh 
all  the  riches  of  this  lower  sphere — materials  for  a  crown  in 
heaven. 

May  6.  Mr.  J.  has  been  reading  to  me  this  evening  Dr. 
Hopkins'  second  sermon  on  Canticles  v.  16.  At  the  close  he 
remarked  that  the  true  reason  why  our  love  for  Christ  does  not 
partake  of  the  exclusiveness  of  human  love,  is  that  in  proportion 
as  His  grace  is  infused  into  our  hearts,  we  learn  not  only  to  obey 
the  golden  rule,  but  our  brethren  actually  become  as  dear  to  us 
as  we  are  to  ourselves.  And  he  added,  that  when  we  reach 
heaven  we  shall  love  others  in  precisely  the  same  manner  and 
degree  as  we  love  ourselves ;  so  that  the  joy  and  happiness  we 
have  in  Christ  individually,  will  be  multiplied  by  the  whole 
number  of  redeemed  souls  that  gather  round  the  throne.  How 
strange  when  we  know  that  "  God  is  love,"  and  heaven  is  made 
by  loving,  and  when  we  see  how  much  bliss  a  little  love  creates 
below — how  strange  that  this  source  of  bliss  is  cultivated  so 
little  by  the  children  of  God ! 


SELP-COMMUNINGS.  327 

Mar/  23.  I  liave  been  very  busy  since  I  began  to  get  better 
— too  busy  I  am  afraid  for  my  spiritual  good.  I  have  finished 
tbe  notes  to  the  memoir,  and  written  a  great  many  letters,  and 
taken  a  short  lesson  daily  in  Burmese.  To-day  I  resume  my 
native  female  prayer-meeting,  The  women  are  delighted  to  see 
me  so  well,  and  expressed  their  joy  both  by  smiles  and  tears. 
They  are  very  anxious  to  have  the  Bible  class  commence  again, 
and  I  have  promised  to  gratify  them  as  soon  as  I  can  use  my 
voice  a  little  better,  but  they  are  just  like  a*  parcel  of  children, 
and  yet  how  vastly  superior  to  the  heathen  about  them !  Grace 
makes  a  very  visible  change  in  them. 

June  20,  1849.  The  notes  to  the  memoir  are  finished  at 
last,  and  are  safely  deposited  in  the  post-office.  To-morrow 
they  will  be  on  their  way  to  Calcutta.  I  have  re-written  them 
all  within  the  last  month,  and  bestowed  upon  them  a  great  deal 
of  work  and  some  prayers.  I  think  they  will  give  people  in 
America  more  distinct  and  definite  notions  of  Buddhism  than 
they  had  before,  without  dragging  them  through  all  the  rubbish 
and  filth  of  idolatry.  I  do  not  see  any  use  in  filling  books  with 
the  silly  vagaries  of  heathenism,  though  an  outline  of  the  great 
systems  with  which  the  Church  has  to  contend  is  doubtless 
useful.     "What  am  I  to  do  next  ? 

September  21.  A  person  of  strong,  unwavering  faith  has 
already  entered  into  a  rest  which  the  dissolving  of  the  elements 
could  not  disturb. 

September  25.  It  is  not  right  for  a  Christian  to  be  continually 
thinking  of  death — the  coffin — and  the  grave.  I  am  deter- 
mined henceforth  to  look  across  this  black  gulf,  and  keep  my 
eye  fixed  on  Christ.  He  has  trod  the  ground,  and  I  know  that 
He  can,  that  He  will  lead  me  safely  across ;  for  even  now  do  I 
feel  assured  He  is  preparing  a  place  for  me.  Why  should  I 
fear? — and  why  should  I  try  to  harrow  up  my  mind  with 
fearful  pictures,  as  though  the  flesh  was  not  weak  enough 
without  ?  No ;  let  ascetics  keep  their  coffins  to  look  at — I  will 
look  above  the  wooden  box,  and  the  cast-off  clay,  clinging,  as 


328  LIFE    OF  MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

I  hasten  onward,  with  all  my  might,  to  the  cross.  Help  me, 
O  blessed  Redeemer!  and  I  shall  indeed  triumph  over  the 
grave — triumph  most  gloriously  ! 

September  29.  This  earth  is  a  mere  speck  in  the  immensity 
of  God's  creations;  and  yet  is  as  dear  to  Him,  as  carefully 
watched  over,  and  its  inhabitants  are  as  precious  in  His  sight, 
as  thouo-h  this  were  His  all.  God  is  not  man,  that  His  interest 
should  be  divided  and  diluted  by  a  multiplicity  of  objects. — I 
am  less  than  a  speck  on  the  earth — few  know  of  my  existence, 
and  soon  I  shall  pass  away  and  be  forgotten.  But  if  I  have 
been  truly  washed  in  the  blood  of  Christ,  I  shall  not  be  forgotten 
of  Him.  I  am  as  dear  to  Him  as  though  I  were  the  only  intel- 
ligent creature  in  the  universe — as  though  the  only  being  God 
created,  and  the  only  being  for  whom  the  Son  of  God  came  into 
the  world  and  died.  If  I  am  truly  redeemed,  I  shall  enter  into 
that  intimate  relation  with  my  Redeemer  indicated  by  the  scrip- 
tural phrase,  "  The  bride — the  Lamb's  wife,"  just  as  entirely  and 
completely  as  though,  instead  of  being  the  minutest  infinitesimal 
part  of  the  Church  triumphant,  it  consisted  of  me  alone.  These 
are  overwhelming  thoughts,  and  call  for  a  serious,  thoughtful, 
prayerful  line  of  life.  They  are  at  once  animating,  ennobling, 
and  humiliating* 

March  12,  1850.  The  best  way  to  bring  the  heart  into  a 
frame  to  love  a  person  who  has  treated  me  unkindly  or  is  in 
any  way  disagaeeable  to  me,  is  to  pray  for  her.  A  general 
prayer  will  not  do  ;  I  must  pray  for  her  success  in  the  things 
that  cross  and  mortify  me  most ;  and  if  I  find  my  heart  too  re- 
bellious to  offer  such  a  prayer,  I  have  reason  to  tremble  for  my 
spiritual  state.  If,  however,  I  persevere,  I  know  that  God  will 
give  me  grace  to  triumph ;  and  then — oh,  how  I  shall  love  that 
enemy  in  heaven ! 


CHAPTER    XX. 

THE      BEEEAVEMENT. 

"Sunk  though  he  he  beneath  the  -watery  floor, 
So  sinks  the  day-star  in  his  ocean  bed, 
And  yet  anon  repairs  his  drooping  head, 
And  tricks  his  beams,  and  with  new  spangled  ore 
Flames  in  the  forehead  of  the  morning  sky." 

While  Mrs.  Judson's  health  was  thus  trembling  in 
the  balances,  and  she  was  contemplating  the  possibility 
of  a  speedy  departure,  there  came  another  and  unantici- 
pated blow,  terrible  and  decisive.  "A  look  of  age,""  ob- 
served by  the  physician,  but  not  by  her,  had  begun  to  creep 
over  her  husband,  "  the  consequence  of  his  shortened  visit 
to  America.''  In  November,  1849,  he  was  attacked  by 
a  violent  cold,  followed  by  dysentery,  and  prostrated  for 
six  or  eight  weeks.  Rallying  a  little,  he,  late  in  Decem- 
ber, took  a  trip  down  the  coast  to  Tavoy  and  Mergui, 
and  afterwards  spent  a  month  at  Amherst  for  the  sea 
air.  His  wife  accompanied  him,  rendering  to  him  all 
the  attentions  of  devoted  love  ;  yet  in  vain.  In  Febru- 
ary, an  extended  sea  voyage  was  pronounced  by  the  phy- 
sician the  only  thing  that  promised  relief.  A  most 
serious  objection  to  this  was  the  dehca^e  situation  of  Mrs. 
Judson,  which  rendered  it  impossible  that  she  should  ac- 
company him ;  and  his  strong  repugnance  to  parting  from 


330  LIFE  OF  MRS.    EMILY  C.  JUDSON. 

her  and  his  family  led  him  to  delay  it  as  long  as  possible. 
By  his  bed-side  Mrs.  Judson  composed  her  exquisite 
little  poem  "  Watching."  The  scene  is  thoroughly  ori- 
ental ;  and  the  vivid  truth  of  the  portrait  is  surpassed 
by  nothing  in  the  luxurious  imagery  of  "  Lalla  Rookh," 
or  the  more  simple  and  natural  picture-drawings  of  Lord 
Byron.  The  irregular  metre  is  so  delicately  managed — 
its  variations  adapt  themselves  so  perfectly  to  the  fluctu- 
ations of  feeling,  from  the  more  abrupt  "  Sleep,  love, 
sleep  "  of  the  opening,  down  to  the  long  drawn  Alex- 
andrine into  which  the  exhausted  emotion  subsides  at 
the  close,  that  the  most  fastidious  taste  can  scarcely  wish 
this  feature  removed. 

WATCHINQ. 

Sleep,  love,  sleep ! 

The  dusty  day  is  done. 

Lo !  from  afar  the  freshening  breezes  sweep, 

Wide  over  groves  of  balm, 

Down  from  the  towering  palm, 

In  at  the  open  casement  cooling  run, 

And  round  thy  lowly  bed. 

Thy  bed  of  pain. 

Bathing  thy  patient  head, 

Like  grateful  showers  of  rain, 

They  come ; 

While  the  white  curtains,  waving  to  and  fro, 

Fan  the  sick  air ; 

And  pityingly  the  shadows  come  and  go, 

With  gentle  human  care. 

Compassionate  and  dumb. 

The  dusty  day  is  done, 
The  night  begun ; 


THE  BEREAVEMENT.  331 

While  prayerful  watch  I  keep, 

Sleep,  love,  sleep ! 

Is  there  no  magic  in  the  touch 

Of  fingers  thou  dost  love  so  much  ? 

Fain  would  they  scatter  poppies  o'er  thee  now ; 

Or,  with  its  mute  caress. 

The  tremulous  lip  some  soft  nepenthe  press 

Upon  thy  weary  lid  and  aching  brow ; 

While  prayerful  watch  I  keep. 

Sleep,  love,  sleep ! 

On  the  pagoda  spire 

The  bells  are  swinging, 

Their  little  golden  circlet  in  a  flutter 

With  tales  the  wooing  winds  have  dared  to  utter, 

Till  all  are  ringing, 

As  if  a  choir 

Of  golden-nested  birds  in  heaven  were  singing ; 

And  with  a  lulling  sound 

The  music  floats  around, 

And  drops  like  balm  into  the  drowsy  ear ; 

Commingling  with  the  hum 

Of  the  Sepoy's  distant  drum. 

And  lazy  beetle  ever  droning  near. 

Sounds  these  of  deepest  silence  born. 

Like  night  made  visible  by  morn ; 

So  silent  that  I  sometimes  start 

To  hear  the  throbbings  of  my  heart. 

And  watch,  with  shivering  sense  of  pain, 

To  see  thy  pale  lids  lift  again. 

The  lizard,  with  his  mouse-like  eyes. 

Peeps  from  the  mortise  in  surprise 

At  such  strange  quiet  after  day's  harsh  din ;. 

Then  boldly  ventures  out, 

And  looks  about. 


332  LIFE   OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.  JUDSON. 

And  with  his  hollow  feet 

Treads  his  small  evening  beat, 

Darting  upon  his  prey 

In  such  a  tricksy,  winsome  sort  of  way, 

His  delicate  marauding  seems  no  sin. 

And  still  the  curtains  swing. 

But  noiselessly ; 

The  bells  a  melancholy  murmur  ring. 

As  tears  were  in  the  sky : 

More  heavily  the  shadows  fall. 

Like  the  black  foldings  of  a  pall. 

Where  juts  the  rough  beam  from  the  wall ; 

The  candles  flare 

With  fresher  gusts  of  air ; 

The  beetle's  drone 

Turns  to  a  dirge-like,  solitary  moan ; 

Night  deepens,  and  I  sit,  in  cheerless  doubt,  alone. 

But  Dr.  Judson's  case  was  becoming  more  critical, 
and  yielding  to  necessity  he  allowed  himself  to  be  car- 
ried on  board  the  French  bark  Aristide  Marie,  bound 
for  the  Isle  of  Bourbon,  Mr.  Eanney  of  the  mission  ac- 
companying him.  The  ship  being  detained  several  days 
in  the  river,  Mrs.  Judson  took  a  boat  each  mornmg  and 
followed  him  down,  spending  the  day  with  him,  and 
returning  at  evening. 

TO   MISS    ANABLE. 

Maulmain,  Dec.  2S,  1849. 

My  Dear, — 

I  can  write  you  but  a  very  short  letter  this  month,  for  we 
have  just  now  an  unusual  number  of  cares.  My  poor  husband 
has  been  ill  for  the  last  six  weeks.  He  took  cold,  which  settled 
on  the  lungs,  and  produced  a  terrible  cough,  with  some  fever. 
This  continued  three  or  four  days,  when  he  was  attacked  with 


THE  BEREAVEMENT.  333 

dysentery,  and  the  physician  had  not  quite  subdued  that  when 
a  congestive  fever  set  in  and  took  away  the  remainder  of  his 
strength.  For  about  a  month  he  had  a  burning  fever  twice  a 
day,  and  yet  he  is  now  on  the  gain.  So  you  may  imagine  that 
he  has  something  of  a  constitution  to  grapple  with  disease.  If 
he  is  well  enough  next  week,  he  will  take  a  trip  down  the  coast. 
We  feel  very  sad  to  have  him  go  alone,  but  it  is  not  absolutely 
necessary  that  I  go ;  we  could  not,  therefore,  in  conscience  ask 
it  of  the  mission,  and  we  can  not  aflford  the  expense  ourselves. 
Even  Dr.  Morton  will  not  say  that  he  can  not  go  without  me, 
though  he  says  that  the  trip  would  do  me  immense  good,  and 
that  I  had  better  go  by  all  means.  The  English  think  "  Dr. 
Judson"  a  sort  of  bishop,  and  supposing  our  salary  to  be  much 
greater  than  that  of  other  missionaries,  they  never  think  of 
expense  in  our  case.  Trades-people  ahvays  charge  us  higher, 
and  our  servant,  being  known  in  the  bazaar,  always  expects  to 
pay  more  for  our  food  than  others.  You  do  not  know,  per- 
haps, that  trades-people  always  charge  the  English  in  propor- 
tion to  their  rank.  I  have,  once  in  a  while,  got  some  Burmese 
woman  to  go  to  bazaar  for  me,  and  she  obtained  articles  for 
less  than  a  third  of  what  I  usually  pay.  But  in  a  day  or  two 
they  discovered  the  ruse,  and  up  went  prices  again.  Are  you 
not  interested  in  my  domestic  matters  ? 

Mr.  J.,  I  say,  is  better,  so  much  so  that  I  took  him  a  little 
drive  last  night  (you  must  know  I  always  hold  the  ribbons  now- 
a-days),  and  though  he  returned  excessively  fatigued,  I  do  not 
think  it  did  him  any  harm.     He  will  be  well  soon,  I  trust. 

You  speak  of  the  affairs  in  Europe.  Mr.  J.  does  not  think  that 
real  millennial  glory  will  begin  before  the  year  2,000 ;  but  thinks 
that  the  twelve  hundred  and  sixty  years  of  the  Papacy  will  end  in 
sixteen  or  seventeen  years.  God  grant  that  we  may  all  live  to  see 
its  downfall !  In  the  meantime,  he  supposes  that  Europe  will  be 
the  theatre  of  mighty  wonders ;  and  though  he  does  not  guess 
what  these  wonders  will  be,  he  thinks  we  may  well  observe 
the  caution  in   Revelation  xvi.  15.      Have  not  the  "unclean 


334  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.  JUDSON. 

spirits"  already  "  gone  out,"  and  is  not  the  world  "  gathering  to 
battle  ?"  And  we  may  not  altogether  escape !  If  England 
should  be  involved  in  a  war  with  Russia,  all  India  would  be 
shaken  ;  and  if  the  latter  power  should  even  temporarily  gain 
Constantinople,  I  tremble  for  all  Eastern  missions.  But  "  the 
Lord  God  omnipotent  reigneth ;"  and  if  we  should  be  granted 
the  honors  of  martyrdom,  others  will  rise  up,  and  the  whole 
East  in  a  few  years  be  flooded  with  Christianity.  It  makes  my 
heart  swell  to  think  of  these  things ;  but  my  notions  are  too 
vague  to  write  down.  Yet — have  you  ever  thought  of  it — 
you  may  not  altogether  escape.  The  United  States  are  peopled 
by  Europeans,  and,  in  all  but  the  soil,  belong  to  the  old  Roman 
empire.  Nobody  has  yet  been  able  to  say  who  the  two  wit- 
nesses of  Revelation  xi.  are,  and  they  certainly  have  not  been 
slain.  If  they  were  the  Waldenses  and  Albigenses,  they  have 
been  merged  in  something  greater  which  (or  who)  is  to  be 
triumphed  over  for  three  years  and  a  half.  Who  knows — (I 
do  not  say  I  think  so,  for  it  involves  horrors  such  as  I  dare  not 
think  of) — ^that  these  two  witnesses  are  not  England  and 
America  ?     Well,  we  have  nothing  to  do  but  watch. 

Lovingly, 

Nemmy. 

to  miss  anable. 

Maxtlmain,  April  15, 1850. 

My  Dear  Ninny, — 

I  sit  down  to  write  you  with  a  very  heavy  heart — indeed, 
heavier  than  I  ever  carried  in  my  life  before.  I  do  not  know 
whether  my  precious  husband  is  still  living,  or  whether  he  may 
not  have  already  gone  to  heaven ;  and  I  shall  have  no  means 
of  knowing  for  three  or  four  months  to  come.  After  I  wrote 
you  last  month  he  continued  to  decline,  but  so  very  slowly  that 
I  was  not  much  alarmed,  till  one  evening,  all  on  a  sudden,  his 
back  gave  way  as  he  attempted  to  go  to  his  cot,  and  he  would 
have  fallen  if  I  had  not  caught  and  supported  him.     From  that 


THE  BEREAVEMENT.  335 

night  lie  never  stood  on  his  feet.  About  ten  days  after,  he  was 
carried  on  board  a  French  bark,  bound  for  Bourbon,  and  laid 
on  a  comfortable  cot  prepared  expressly  for  him  ;  but  poor  I 
was  not  allowed  to  go  with  him.  Every  body  said  it  would  be 
madness,  and  he  too  said  I  must  not  go ;  he  would  rather  stay 
here  and  die  than  have  both  our  lives  endangered.  But  may 
you  never  know  the  terrible  effort  which  the  resolution  to 
separate,  under  such  circumstances,  cost  both  of  us.  The 
doctor  said  that  he  could  not  possibly  live  if  he  remained  here, 
but  that  if  he  went  to  sea  there  was  a  chance — a  very  small 
chance,  indeed,  he  acknowledged.  So  the  question  became  one 
of  duty  ;  if  it  had  been  one  of  choice,  all  the  world  would  not 
have  induced  him  to  go.  I  had  watched  over  him  night  and 
day  for  five  months,  and  it  did  seem  at  first  as  though  we  could 
not  breathe  apart.  "  If  it  should  be  the  will  of  God  to  let  me 
die  here,  what  a  mercy !"  he  repeated  over  and  over  many 
times  a  day,  as  his  strength  very  perceptibly  failed.  But  it 
was  not,  and  the  day  before  he  went  on  board  he  revived  con- 
siderably. The  vessel  was  a  long  time  in  going  out  of  the 
river,  and  so  every  morning  I  took  a  boat  and  followed  after  it, 
and  at  evening  came  back  to  look  after  my  little  ones.  In  this 
way  I  was  on  board  the  greater  part  of  four  days,  and  had  the 
privilege  of  arranging  everything  for  his  comfort  in  the  way 
that  I  knew  he  liked.  The  officers  were  very  kind,  and  treated 
me  with  that  delicate,  winning  politeness  which  the  French  so 
well  understand,  assuring  me  that  everything  should  be  done 
in  their  power — they  were  entirely  at  his  command.  Mr. 
Ranney,  the  mission  printer,  was  appointed  to  go  with  him, 
and  he  took  a  most  faithful  Bengalee  servant  that  has  been 
with  us  for  two  years.  So  as  far  as  attendance  is  concerned,  he 
is  quite  as  well  off  as  if  I  were  with  him.  The  last  day  I  was 
on  board  he  was  much  worse — so  weak  that  he  could  not 
speak  above  a  whisper,  and  even  that  but  little.  When  I  parted 
with  him  he  moved  his  lips  to  speak,  but  made  no  sound  ;  he 
did  not  even  open  his  eyes,  though  he  returned  my  kiss.     When 


336  LIFE   OF  MRS.  EMILY    C.  JUDSON. 

the  pilot  left,  however,  he  seemed  animated  with  the  prospect 
of  getting  out  to  sea,  which  he  always  loved,  and  told  Mr.  Ran* 
ney  to  write  me  that  he  "  felt  too  much  life  in  him  to  believe 
he  should  die  at  present,  and  he  had  strong  hopes  of  returning 
to  us  in  as  good  health  as  formerly."  Mr.  Ranney,  too,  was 
encouraged,  though  less  sanguine. 

April  18.  The  mail  has  come  in  since  I  commenced  this, 
and  my  cheerful  American  letters  grated  very  harshly  at  first, 
but  on  a  second  reading  they  make  me  feel  encouraged.  I  do 
almost  believe  that  God  will  yet  take  pity  on  us,  and  let  us  have 
a  few  more  years  of  happiness  in  this  world.  Oh,  you  do  not 
know  how  desolate  the  house  seems,  and  how  I  hear  his  voice 
calling  me  by  day  and  by  night.  The  worst  of  it  is  the  uncer- 
tainty of  getting  intelligence.  They  arrive  in  six  weeks,  and  in 
six  weeks  more  I  might  get  a  letter,  if  a  vessel  should  be  coming 
this  way — but  I  may  not  hear  in  four,  five,  or  even  six  months. 
Can  you  imagine  a  more  torturing  state  of  anxiety  ?  Ah,  me ! 
are  we  not  brought  into  terrible  straits  sometimes  ?     .     .     . 

Ah,  Ninny,  you  don't  know  how  I  want  you  to  be  here — 
how  I  want  to  get  into  your  bosom  and  cry  a  week.  After 
being  loved  and  petted  as  I  have  been,  it  is  so,  so  desolate  to  be 
alone !  God  is  disciplining  me,  however ;  and  I  suppose  I  need 
something  very  severe.  Sometimes  I  think  it  would  have  been 
such  a  mercy  if  I  had  died  during  my  late  illness ;  but  then, 
who  would  have  taken  care  of  him  during  these  tedious  five 
months  ?  No,  it  was  a  sweet  privilege  to  be  beside  him  all  the 
time,  and  he  has  blest  me  over  and  over  again  for  my  care. 
Good  bye,  darling ;  I  shall  write  again  as  soon  as  I  am  able. 
Affectionately, 

Nemmy  C.  Judsox. 

On  the  22d  of  April,  her  second  child  (named  Charles, 
from  her  father)  was  born ;  but  he  "  brought  no  joy." 
She  had  not  the  happiness  of  recognizing  any  life  in  the 
perfect  little  form ;  and  the  stricken  mother  thus  poured 


THE   BEREAVEMENT.  337 

forth  her  grief  in  such  sweet  strains  as  a  mother's  love 
and  a  Christian's  faith  have  rarely  united  in  breathing  : 

ANGEL      CHARLIE. 

He  came — a  beauteous  vision — 

Then  vanished  from  my  sight, 
His  wing  one  moment  cleaving 

The  blackness  of  my  night ; 
My  glad  ear  caught  its  rustle, 

Then  sweeping  by,  he  stole 
The  dew-drop  that  his  coming 

Had  cherished  in  my  soul. 

Oh,  he  had  been  my  solace 

When  grief  my  spirit  swayed, 
And  on  his  fragile  being 

Had  tender  hopes  been  stayed  ; 
Where  thought,  where  feeling  lingered 

His  form  was  sure  to  glide, 
And  in  the  lone  night  watches 

'Twas  ever  by  my  side. 

He  came ;  but  as  the  blossom 

Its  petals  closes  up. 
And  hides  them  from  the  tempest, 

Within  its  sheltering  cup. 
So  he  his  spirit  gathered 

Back  to  his  frightened  breast. 
And  passed  from  earth's  grim  threshold, 

To  be  the  Saviour's  guest. 

My  boy — ah,  me  !  the  sweetness. 

The  anguish  of  that  word  ! — 
My  boy,  when  in  strange  night  dreams, 

My  slumbering  soul  is  stirred  ; 
15 


338  LIFE    OF   MRS.   EMILY    C.   JUDSON.  || 

When  music  floats  around  me, 

When  soft  lips  touch  my  brow, 
And  whisper  gentle  greetings, 

Oh,  tell  me,  is  it  thou  ? 

I  know,  by  one  sweet  token. 

My  Charlie  is  not  dead ; 
One  golden  clue  he  left  me, 

As  on  his  track  he  sped ; 
Were  he  some  gem  or  blossom, 

But  fashioned  for  to-day. 
My  love  would  slowly  perish 

With  his  dissolving  clay. 

Oh,  by  this  deathless  yearning, 

Which  is  not  idly  given  ; 
By  the  delicious  nearness 

My  spirit  feels  to  heaven ; 
By  dreams  that  throng  my  night  sleep, 

By  visions  of  the  day. 
By  whispers  w^hen  I'm  erring. 

By  promptings  when  I  pray  ; — 

I  know  this  life  so  cherished. 

Which  sprang  beneath  my  heart. 
Which  formed  of  my  own  being 

So  beautiful  a  part ; 
This  precious,  winsome  creature. 

My  unfledged,  voiceless  dove, 
Lifts  now  a  seraph's  pinion, 

And  warbles  lays  of  love. 

Oh,  I  would  not  recall  thee, 

My  glorious  angel  boy ! 
Thou  needest  not  my  bosom. 

Rare  bird  of  light  and  joy ; 


THE  BEREAVEMENT.  339 

Here  dash  I  down  the  tear-drops, 

Still  gathering  in  my  eyes  ; 
Blest — oh  !  how  blest ! — in  adding 

A  seraph  to  the  skies ! 


JtTLT  30,  1850. 


TO    MRS.    STEVENS, 

ON  SENDING  HEK  CAEKIAGE  FOR  HER. 

My  dear  old  Bible  tells 
How  the  tide  of  pity  swells 

Up  above; 
And  hints  at  angel  forms 
That  bow  amid  our  storms, 

Lizzie,  love. 

It  puzzles  me  to  know 

How  these  angels  come  and  go 

On  our  sphere. 
Do  they  cast  their  wings  aside, 
When  with  mortals  they  abide, 

Lizzie,  dear? 

I  have  drunk  my  cup  of  tears, 
I  have  known  of  griefs  and  fears. 

Pain  and  care; 
Then  a  footstep  sought  my  bed. 
And  a  form  bent  o'er  my  head, 

O,  so  fair ! 

But  since  it  can  not  fly — 

Though  I'm  sure  it's  from  the  sky, 

Lizzie,  dear — 
If  you  know,  my  pretty  fawn. 
Let  the  buggy  and  Bar-John 

Bring  her  here. 

Emily  C.  Judson. 


340  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON.  Sk 

Many  weeks  and  montlis  now  rolled  away,  during 
wMch  Mrs.  Judson  endured  the  lingering  agonies  of  hope 
deferred.  Repeatedly  she  sent  out  missives  to  her  hus- 
band, giving  utterance  to  her  fears  and  her  hopes — now 
to  the  sad  presentiment  that  their  parting  had  been  final 
— now  to  the  cheering  belief  that  God  would,  in  mercy, 
return  him  to  her  arms — and  adding  such  items  of  intel- 
ligence as  would  interest  him,  if  he  yet  retained  an  inter- 
est in  aught  that  was  done  beneath  the  sun.  Her  letters 
speak  especially  of  the  tender  care — of  the  parental  and 
sisterly  affection  and  sympathy  of  her  associates  in  the 
mission.  Scarcely  anything  can  be  conceived  more 
affecting  than  her  present  situation.  The  sods  of  the 
valley  pressing  her  new-born  child  ;  herself  wasted  to  a 
skeleton  and  hardly  able  to  rise  from  her  couch  ;  her 
friends  and  relatives  divided  from  her  by  half  the 
circumference  of  the  globe  ;  her  husband  withdrawn 
under  circumstances  which  made  it  doubtful  if  he 
could  survive  even  a  week,  and  yet  she  compelled  to 
wait  four  long  months  before  her  dreadful  suspense  can 
be  relieved  by  the  scarcely  more  dreadful  tidings  of  his 
death  !  Rarely  are  the  fountains  of  sorrow  in  the  human 
bosom  more  deeply  stirred.  Scarcely  can  we  conceive  a 
combination  of  circumstances  more  fitted  to  call  forth 
that  wail  of  a  desolate  spirit — that  shriek  of  the  soul — 
that  cry  of  intense  and  concentrated  agony  which  now 
embodied  itself  in  the  following  lines  to  her  mother : 

SWEET      MOTHER. 

The  wild  southwest  monsoon  has  risen, 

On  broad  gray  wings  of  glooin, 
While  here  from  out  my  dreary  prison 
I  look  as  from  a  tomb — alas  ! 

My  heart  another  tomb. 


THE   BEREAVEMENT.  341 

Upon  the  low  thatched  roof  the  rain 

With  ceaseless  patter  falls  : 
My  choicest  treasures  bear  its  stain, 
Mould  gathers  on  the  walls — would  Heaven 

'Twere  only  on  the  walls ! 

Sweet  mother,  I  am  here  alone. 

In  sorrow  and  in  pain ; 
The  sunshine  from  my  heart  has  flown, 
It  feels  the  driving  rain — ah  me ! 

The  chill,  and  mould,  and  rain. 

Four  laggard  months  have  wheeled  their  round 

Since  love  upon  it  smiled, 
And  everything  of  earth  has  frowned 
On  thy  poor  stricken  child, — sweet  friend ; 

Thy  weary,  suffering  child. 

I'd  watched  my  loved  one  night  and  day, 

Scarce  breathing  when  he  slept, 
And  as  my  hopes  were  swept  away, 
I'd  in  his  bosom  wept. — Oh,  God ! 

How  had  I  prayed  and  Avept  ! 

They  bore  him  from  me  to  the  ship, 

As  bearers  bear  the  dead ; 
I  kissed  his  speechless,  quivering  lip. 
And  left  him  on  his  bed — alas ! 

It  seemed  a  coflSn  bed. 

Then,  mother,  little  Charlie  came. 

Our  beautiful,  fair  boy. 
With  my  own  father's  cherished  name, — 
But  0,  he  brought  no  joy, — my  child 

Brought  mourning  and  no  joy. 


342  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

His  little  grave  I  can  not  see, 

Though  weary  months  have  fled 
Since  pitying  lips  bent  over  me, 
And  whispered,  "  He  is  dead." — Ah  me  ! 
'Tis  dreadful  to  be  dead  ! 

I  do  not  mean  for  one  like  me, 
So  weary  worn  and  weak, — 
Death's  shadowy  paleness  seems  to  be 
Even  now  npon  my  cheek, — his  seal 
On  form,  and  brow,  and  cheek. 

But  for  a  bright  winged  bird,  like  him, 

To  hush  his  joyous  song, 
And  prisoned  in  a  coffin  dim. 
Join  death's  pale  phantom  throng, — my  boy 

To  join  that  grisly  throng ! 

0  mother,  I  can  scarcely  bear 
To  think  of  this  to-day : 

It  was  so  exquisitely  fair, 
That  little  form  of  clay, — my  heart 
Still  lingers  by  his  clay. 

And  when  for  one  loved  far,  far  more 

Come  thickly  gathering  tears, 
My  star  of  faith  is  clouded  o'er, 

1  sink  beneath  my  fears, — sweet  friend, 

My  heavy  weight  of  fears. 

O  but  to  feel  thy  fond  arms  twme 

Around  me  once  again  ! 
It  almost  seems  those  lips  of  thine 
Might  kiss  away  the  pain — ^might  soothe 

This  dull,  cold,  heavy  pain. 


/ 


THE  BEREAVEMENT.  343 

But  gentle  mother,  througli  life's  storms 

I  may  not  lean  on  thee ; 
For  helpless,  cowering  little  forms 
Cling  trustingly  to  me. — Poor  babes ! 

To  have  no  guide  but  me. 

With  weary  foot  and  broken  wing, 

With  bleeding  heart  and  sore, 
Thy  dove  looks  backward  sorrowing. 
But  seeks  the  ark  no  more — Thy  breast 

Seeks  never,  never  more. 

Sweet  mother  for  the  exile  pray. 

That  loftier  faith  be  given  ; 
Her  broken  reeds  all  swept  away. 
That  she  may  rest  in  heaven — her  soul 

Grow  strong  in  Christ  and  heaven. 

All  fearfully,  all  tearfully. 

Alone  and  sorrowing,  .  ' 

My  dim  eye  lifted  to  the  sky — 
Fast  to  the  cross  I  cling — O  Christ ! 

To  thy  dear  cross  I  cling. 

At  length,  about  the  28th  of  August,  the  dreaded 
tidings  came.  Her  husband  was  dead.  Within  two 
weeks  of  bidding  her  adieu,  amidst  unspeakable  physical 
agonies,  but  in  the  utmost  serenity  of  soul,  he  had  breathed 
out  his  life,  and  his  body  had  been  committed  to  the 
deep,  and  his  spirit  gone  to  its  reward.  He  had  been 
dead  nearly  four  months,  and  he  had  not  come  and  told 
her.  If  there  were  any  thing  in  "  spiritualism"  but  a 
foul  and  pestilent  lie,  or  the  subtle  agency  of  the  devil — 
if  the  spirits  of  the  virtuous  and  sainted  dead  could  hold 
legitimate  intercourse  with  those  whom  they  have  left 
behind,  Mrs.  Judson  would  not  have  been  flowed  by  him 


344  LIFE   OF    MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

who  loved  her  more  than  life  to  pine  for  four  months  in 
harrowing  uncertainty,  when  a  single  whisper  from  his 
spirit  lips  had  disclosed  all.  Sin  has  placed  man  in  a 
state  of  judicial  isolation,  and  hung  a  curtain  of  impene- 
trable darkness  around  his  earthly  abode.  The  great 
moral  mysteries  of  the  future  are  revealed  to  the  eye  of 
faith,  but  all  that  might  minister  to  our  curiosity — ^all 
that  we  do  not  need  to  know,  is,  even  in  the  case  of  God's 
chosen  ones,  to  be  reached  only  through  the  portals  of 
the  sepulchre. 

The  intelligence  of  her  bereavement  was  communicated 
by  Kev.  Mr.  Mackay,  of  Calcutta.  It  was  accompanied 
by  expressions  of  deep  sympathy,  and  a  cordial  invitation 
to  her,  should  she  decide  on  returning  to  England  by 
way  of  Calcutta,  to  make  his  house  her  home  during 
her  stay  there.  He  was  of  the  Scotch  Presbyterian 
church,  and  from  him  and  his  family  Mrs.  Judson  subse- 
quently experienced  the  most  unwearied  kindness. 

TO    MISS    ANABLE. 

August,  1850. 

It  is  all  over,  Anna  Maria,  darling,  and  oh  !  do  pity  me.  I 
am  so,  so  desolate.  He  lived  only  four  days  after  they  left  the 
river,  and  suffered  so  intensely  that  he  longed  for  the  release 
of  death.  And  here  for  four  long  months  have  I  been,  so  anxi- 
ous about  him,  when  he  was  wearing  his  crown  in  heaven  ?  I 
ought  to  rejoice  and  be  glad  that  he  is  so  happy  and  glorious : 
sometime,  perhaps,  I  may  get  strength  for  it ;  but  now  I  can 
think  of  nothing,  and  see  nothing,  but  the  black  shadows  that 
have  fallen  upon  my  own  heart  and  life.  Oh,  it  is  a  terrible 
thing  to  lose  a  friend  and  guide  like  him. 

I  can  not  write  you  any  more,  darling,  for  my  heart  is  ach- 
ing, and  I  am  ill  with  grief.  I  do  not  feel  as  though  I  should 
ever  be  well  again  ;  but  perhaps  I  shall— and  then,  perhaps— I 


THE   BEREAVEMENT.  345 

do  not  know — I  may  try  to  bring  my  poor  little  orphans  home. 
Write  to  me,  however ;  for  it  is  doubtful  about  my  going  at  all 
— certainly  not  at  present.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  should  like 
to  die  here,  and  be  buried  where  my  precious  husband  labored. 
But  no  matter ;  wherever  we  may  be,  we  shall  have  no  diffi- 
culty in  finding  each  other  on  the  resurrection  morning.  Oh, 
Anna  Maria,  you  do  not  know  how  we  have  loved  one  another, 
and  now,  /  am  alone.     In  deep  affliction, 

Your  poor 

Nemmy. 

to  her  sister. 

Maulmain,  August  20, 1850. 

My  Dear  Kate, — 

I  suppose  you  will  have  heard  before  this  reaches  you,  that 
the  last  blow  has  fallen  upon  me — that  I  am  widowed  and  des- 
olate. Oh,  you  can  not  guess  how  heavy  my  heart  is — nor 
how  dark  and  dreary  my  future  appears.  God  help  me !  I 
can  not  write  particulars  now,  I  am  too  ill,  and  Mr.  Ranney 
says  he  wrote  from  Mauritius.  I  can  not  say  what  I  shall  do. 
I  have  no  plans,  and  no  expectations.  It  was  my  husband's 
wish  that  I  should  go  home  with  my  poor  little  orphans,  but 
the  missionaries  beg  that  I  will  decide  on  nothing  hastily,  and  I 
feel  as  though  America  could  never  be  a  home  to  me  again. 
Time  will  tell.  In  the  mean  time,  pity  me,  dear  Kate,  for  my 
poor  heart  is  aching  sorely. 

Your  afflicted  sister, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 
Love  to  father,  mother,  and  Wallace. 

TO    REV.    MR.    STEVENS, 
ON  TRANSMITTING   TIIE  M8S.  OF  THE   UNFINISHED  DICTIONARY. 

Maulmain,  September  4, 1S50. 

My  Dear  Mr.  Stevens, — 

Parting  with  the  manuscripts  which  were  every  day  before 
my  eyes  during  three  happy  years,  almost  carries  me  back  to 

15* 


346  LIFE   OP  MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

that  sad  morning  in  April  when  he  passed  from  the  door  never 
again  to  return.  But  I  well  know  that  my  Heavenly  Father  is 
ordering  all  these  things,  and  I  have  nothing  to  do  but  submit 
— nothing  to  say  but  "  Thy  will,  O  God,  be  done  !" 

A  few  days  before  Mr.  Judson  went  away,  he  told  me,  if  he 
should  never  return,  to  place  the  Dictionary  papers  in  your 
hands,  and  it  is  in  compliance  with  that  request  that  I  now 
send  them.  I  suppose  that  he  would  not  have  improved  the 
English  and  Burmese  part  very  essentially  while  carrying  it 
through  the  press;  and  the  second  part,  the  Burmese  and 
English  is,  as  far  as  he  had  advanced,  equally  complete.     The 

last   word  he  defined  was ,  and  the  corresponding  initial 

vowel . 

The  only  request  he  made  was  that  there  might  be  some 
distinct  mark,  both  in  the  dictionary  and  grammar,  to  indicate 
where  his  work  ended  and  yours  commenced.  The  grammar 
was  intended  to  preface  the  Burmese  and  English  portion  of 
the  dictionary,  but  is  complete  only  as  far  as  through  the  cases 
of  nouns — 32  manuscript  pages.  I  believe  this  grammar  was 
on  a  somewhat  dijQferent  plan  from  the  old  "Grammatical 
Notices ;"  but  I  send  a  printed  copy  of  that,  in  which  he  has 
marked  several  errors,  as  it  may  be  of  some  service  to  you. 
In  addition  to  the  finished  parts  of  the  Dictionary,  you  will  find 
the  two  old  manuscript  volumes  which  he  had  in  use  ever  after 
his  first  arrival  in  Burmah  ;  and  these  I  beg  to  have  returned 
to  me  when  the  work  is  completed.  Interlined  and  erased  as 
they  are,  you  will  have  great  difiiculty  in  deciphering  them, 
and  will  no  doubt  find  some  parts  quite  illegible.  I  think  I 
mentioned  to  you  the  plan  of  having  Moung-Shway-loo  make 
out,  from  the  old  printed  Dictionary  and  his  own  memory,  a 
list  of  words  more  or  less  synonymous,  and  I  send  the  books, 
which,  although  not  to  be  implicitly  relied  on,  are,  I  believe, 
quite  valuable. 

There  is  one  bound  volume  which  I  do  not  recollect  having 
seen  before  ;  but  I  think  it  must  be  a  vocabulary  an-anged  from 


THE   BEREAVEMENT.  347 

an  original  Burmese  one,  as  I  have  heard  Mr.  J.  speak  of  having 
such  a  work.  The  remaining  papers,  consisting  of  two  or  three 
little  vocabularies,  and  the  like,  are,  I  suppose,  of  no  great 
value ;  but  I  thought  it  best  to  send  every  thing  in  any  way 
connected  with  defining  words.  I  also  put  in  with  the  rest  the 
old  proof-sheets,  as  he  sometimes  had  occasion  to  refer  to  them. 
And  now,  may  the  blessing  of  God  rest  upon  this  work — 
on  you,  or  whoever  else  may  finish  it — on  all  who,  for  Christ's 
sake,  study  it,  and  upon  poor  Burmah,  in  whose  behalf  so  much 
time  and  labor  have  been  expended. 

Very  afi'ectionately,  your  sister, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 

Under  date  of  September  20,  Mrs.  Judson  wrote  to 
her  sister,  Miss  A.  B.  Judson,  a  minute  and  most  beauti- 
ful account  of  the  closing  scenes  in  the  life  of  her 
husband,  and  subsequently  contributed  most  touching 
reminiscences  regarding  them,  as  well  as  other  portions 
of  his  history,  to  the  memoir,  prepared  by  Dr.  Wayland. 
The  length  of  these  precludes  their  insertion  here,  and 
they  belong  more  strictly  to  his  life  than  to  hers. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

HOMEWAED     BOUND. 
"  My  visions  fade  "behind,  my  weary  lieart  speeds  home." 

The  question  of  her  future  disposition  of  herself  and 
children,  now  pressed  itself  forcibly  and  painfully  upon 
Mrs.  Judson.  Her  heart  was  with  the  mission ;  her 
strongest  wish  to  live  and  die  amidst  the  scene  of  her 
now  sainted  husband's  labors,  and  give  her  powers  to  the 
work  whose  glory  had  come  gradually  to  absorb  all  the 
faculties  of  her  soul.  As  her  health  slightly  improved, 
it  was  her  first  purpose  to  remain  at  least  a  few  years, 
in  the  hope  of  turning  her  knowledge  of  the  language 
and  her  experience  to  account  in  some  of  the  good  for 
which  she  so  ardently  panted.  But,  with  the  setting  in 
of  the  rainy  season,  she  experienced  a  fresh  relapse, 
which  admonished  her  that  a  change  of  climate  consti- 
tuted her  only  prospect  of  continued  life  ;  and,  looking 
both  to  her  own  health  and  the  good  of  her  children,  she 
could  not  doubt  that  duty  demanded  her  return  to 
America.     She  writes  thus  to  Miss  Anable,  October  20  : 

You  will  not  think  that  I  do  not  love  you  when  I  say  that 
it  is  more  painful  for  me  to  return  to  America — to  leave  all 
here — than  it  was  to  come  away  from  you  originally.  But  I 
have  considered  the  subject  prayerfully,  have  advised  with  the 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  349 

missionaries,  and  consulted  the  wishes  of  my  sainted  husband, 
and  have  no  doubt  in  regard  to  duty.  I  must  go  back  to  Ame- 
rica, and,  if  God  spares  my  life,  try  to  serve  Him  there.  My 
heart  is  here — I  love  the  missionaries,  love  the  work,  and  love 
the  precious  Christians  that  have  been  accustomed  to  gather 
round  me  for  prayer  and  instruction.  They  sobbed  like  so 
many  children  when  I  announced  my  purpose  of  returning. 
My  knowledge  of  the  language  is  too  important  to  be  thrown 
away,  and  my  knowledge  of  the  habits  and  character  of  the 
people  is  probably  (from  peculiar  circumstances)  greater  than  that 
of  many  who  have  been  longer  in  the  field.  But  the  state  of  my 
health  and  the  good  of  the  children  require  a  sacrifice  of  feel- 
ing which,  from  your  distance,  you  will  be  unable  to  appreciate. 
.  .  .  I  am  not  permitted  to  raise  myself  in  bed,  for  I  am 
suffering  from  a  relapse,  brought  on,  the  physician  says,  by 
writing  letters. 

TO    MRS.    NOTT. 

Matjlmain,  November  16,  1850. 

My  Dear  Mrs.  Nott, — 

I  can  not  recollect  positively  whether  I  replied  to  your 
letter,  written  long  since,  or  not,  but  I  know  it  was  in  my 
heart  to  do  so,  though  I  may  have  failed  in  the  accomplish- 
ment. For  the  last  two  years,  "  sickness  and  sorrow,  pain  and 
death,"  have  been  my  constant  attendants ;  and,  in  consequence 
of  this,  I  have  neglected  many  social  duties  and  been  deprived 
of  many  pleasures,  among  which  correspondence  with  those  I 
formerly  loved  is  not  the  least.  And  now,  though  my  hands 
are  full  of  cares,  and  my  heart  heavy  with  its  accumulated 
harden  of  sorrows,  my  thoughts  still  turn  back  to  other  days, 
and,  even  in  the  midst  of  pain,  and  weakness,  and  desolation,  I 
find  something  not  unlike  a  ray  of  sunshine  left  me  from  the 
dreadful  wreck  of  all  those  bright  hopes.  God  has  given  me  a 
bitter  portion,  and  yet,  through  all,  even  in  the  heaviest  of  my 
trials,  His  loving-kindness  and  tender  mercy  have  never  failed ; 


350  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

and  now,  though  my  path  in  life  is  darkened  forever,  He  yet 
condescends  to  guide  me,  and  I  can  not  be  wholly  miserable. 
Heaven  seems  very  dear  to  me,  and  very  near^  indeed,  since  it 
contains  my  sainted  husband  and  the  precious,  precious  little 
one  that  I  had  hoped  to  receive  in  his  stead.  And  then,  my 
own  feet  have  been  treading,  for  the  last  six  months,  close  on 
the  verge  of  eternity,  so  that  trust  in  Christ  has  been  my  only 
resource,  both  for  myself  and  my  poor  little  orphans,  and  I 
have  found  it,  indeed,  a  sweet  dependence.  Now  my  health  is 
a  little  better,  and  the  doctor  says  that  if  I  return  to  America, 
I  have  a  good  prospect  of  recovery  from  the  disease  contracted 
here,  though,  on  other  accounts,  a  cold  climate  will  be  less 
favorable  to  me  than  a  warm  one.  It  is  very  painful  to  me  to 
leave  the  mission  just  as  I  began  to  be  prepared  for  usefulness, 
but  it  is  of  God's  ordering,  and  I  know  that  He  will  do  what  is 
best,  both  for  me  and  for  His  cause.  If  I  stay  here  I  can  not 
live ;  if  I  go  to  America  I  may  be  permitted  to  be  of  some  use 
to  the  children;  so,  there  is  no  ground  for  question.  I  shall 
leave  here  for  Calcutta  in  January,  I  think,  and  then  take  a 
passenger  ship  for  England.  ...  I  shall  probably  reach 
England  in  June  or  July. 

.  .  .  It  is  my  intention,  if  God  spares  my  life,  to  gather 
the  poor  children  (six  in  all)  under  one  roof,  and  make  a  home 
for  them  in  some  place  where  they  can  have  the  advantage  of 
good  schools,  and  we  can  live  economically.  I  can  not  yet 
decide  where  that  will  be.  The  three  children  here  with  me 
enjoy  excellent  health,  and  are  delighted  with  the  prospect  of 
the  voyage,  but  more  especially  the  wonders  they  expect  to 
meet  in  America.  I  shall  also  bring  with  me  the  Indian  girl 
I  have  employed  of  late  as  a  nurse,  and  a  little  son  of  Mr. 
Stevens,  a  brother  missionary.  So  my  party  will  consist  of  six, 
and  don't  you  think  they  need  a  more  eflScient  head  than  I  ? 
How  different  when  I  came  out !  Friends  in  America  prepared 
my  outfit  and  packed  it,  and  my  husband  put  everything  in  its 
place  and  watched  me  all  the  way,  as  mothers  watch  their 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  351 

infants.  But  the  "Father  of  the  fatherless  and  the  widow's 
God"  will  go  with  us  now,  and  I  do  not  think  I  shall  be 
afraid. 

We  heard  of  Dr.  Nott's  illness  with  much  sorrow,  and  there 
was  a  time  when  my  husband  did  not  expect  to  precede  him  to 
heaven ;  but  God  had  work  for  one  and  not  the  other,  and  "  He 
doeth  all  things  well." 

With  much  love  to  yourself  and  Dr.  Nott,  as  well  as  the 
Pearsons,       '  Very  affectionately  yours, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 

to  right  rev.  bishop  wilson,  lord  bishop  of  calcutta. 

Maulmain,  Dec.  17. 

My  Beloved  Father  in  Christ, — 

I  was  so  much  overcome  yesterday,  both  by  a  sense  of 
the  condescension  of  your  lordship's  visit,  and  also  by  the  flood 
of  mournful  reminiscences  which  it  generated,  that  I  failed  to 
say  how  warmly  my  now  sainted  husband  reciprocated  the 
affection  you  were  pleased  to  express  for  him,  and  how  deep 
were  his  respect  and  veneration.  I  also  neglected  to  fulfill  one 
of  his  last  requests,  made  only  a  few  days  previous  to  our  final 
earthly  parting.  It  had  been  his  intention  to  send  you  a  copy 
of  the  memoir  of  his  late  wife,  but  the  first  editions  were  so 
defaced  by  typographical  errors  that  he  deferred  it  until  we 
should  receive  a  revised  edition.  This  was  expected  daily  when 
he  went  away,  and  he  commissioned  me  to  beg  your  lord- 
ship's acceptance  of  a  copy  in  his  name,  so  soon  as  I  should 
receive  it.  My  subsequent  illness,  together  with  my  anticipated 
visit  to  Calcutta,  has  prevented  the  fulfillment  of  his  wishes 
until  now.  ' 

I  also  do  myself  the  pleasure  to  add  another  memento— the 
accompanying  engraving,  from  a  portrait  taken  five  years  since 
in  America.  Those  who  loved  him  do  not  think  it  correct, 
but  it  is  a  very  good  representation  of  the  face  he  wore  in 
public. 


352  LIFE   OF  MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

Permit  me  again  to  express  my  warmest  thanks  for  your 
kind  gift — the  Book  of  books — and  to  assure  your  lordship  that 
this  will  be  the  copy  which  I  shall  hereafter  read  in  my  closet, 
and  preserve  among  my  choicest  treasures. 

Praying  that  our  Heavenly  Father  may  have  you  in  His 
holy  keeping,  and  spare  you  to  the  Church  of  Christ  for  many 
years  to  come  ;  and  trusting  that  when  you  sometimes  think  of 
a  saint  in  glory,  you  may  remember  also  the  widow  and  the 
fatherless  in  their  desolation,  believe  me,  my  lord,  with  rever- 
ential affection. 

Most  sincerely  yours, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 

The  following  to  Kev.  Dr.  Bright  (the  Home  Secre- 
tary of  the  Missionary  Union)  is  especially  interesting 
as  containing  a  brief  but  most  just  and  beautiful  delinea- 
tion of  the  character  of  her  deceased  husband.  It  shows 
how  thoroughly  she  understood  him — ^how  competent 
she  was  to  do  justice  to  his  memory  : 

TO    REV.    DR.    BRIGHT. 

Maflmain,  Dec.  23, 1850. 

My  Dear  Mr.  Bright, — 

I  have  no  words  with  which  to  express  my  gratitude  for 
the  kind  sympathy  of  yourself  and  the  executive  committee  in 
my  afflictions,  nor  the  pleasure  with  which  I  have  regarded 
your  manifest  appreciation  of  a  character  now  made  perfect  in 
glory.  I  would  also,  were  it  in  my  power,  extend  my  thanks 
to  all  those  Churches  and  individual  Christians  who  have  given 
me  the  support  of  their  prayers  during  these  dark  months  of 
trial ;  for  surely  the  everlasting  arms  have  been  about  me,  and 
God — even  the  God  in  whom  he  trusted — has  led  me.  In  sor- 
row, in  anxiety,  in  weakness,  in  the  depths  of  desolation  and 
affliction,  I  have  found  the  blessedness  of  clinging  to  the  cross 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  353 

of  Christ,  and  though  I  have  had  my  hours  of  trembling  and 
despondency,  I  have  also  had  glimpses  of  the  eternal  world, 
and  of  a  crown  radiant  with  the  glory  of  the  redeemed,  which 
have  made  me  rejoice  that  I  am  permitted  thus  to  suffer,  while 
the  suffering  is  mine  alone. 

After  my  illness  of  1849  (by  which  my  prospects  of  useful- 
ness in  the  mission  were  greatly  impaired),  my  husband  ex- 
pressed his  desire  that,  in  case  of  his  death,  I  should  return  to 
America  and  assume  the  guardianship  of  the  children.  A  few 
days  previous  to  his  embarkation  I  took  occasion  to  allude  to 
the  subject,  inquiring  if  he  had  any  objection  to  my  remaining 
here  until  I  had  accomplished  certain  objects  for  which  I  had 
been  striving  to  prepare  myself,  provided  it  should  seem  in  my 
own  eyes  the  wisest  course,  and  should  meet  the  approval  of 
the  Mission  and  the  Board,  After  some  little  hesitation  he 
replied  that  it  would  be  very  sad  to  leave  me  in  such  circum- 
stances, and  he  should  feel  far  happier  to  think  of  me  in  the 
position  he  had  so  often  pictured  in  my  native  land,  but  added, 
"  I  do  not  wish  you  to  feel  under  the  least  restraint  from  any 
thing  I  have  said  ;  act  as  your  judgment  dictates,  and  I  am  sure 
that  God  will  guide  you  to  a  wise  decision."  I  felt,  therefore, 
that  it  would  not  be  a  violation  of  his  wishes  for  me  to  remain 
until  the  age  of  the  children  made  my  return  necessary ;  and 
for  a  little  time,  with  the  kind  concurrence  of  the  Mission,  I 
decided  accordingly.  But  God  ordained  it  otherwise,  and,  as 
you  have  already  learned,  left  me  without  a  choice.  The 
physician  who  has  attended  upon  me  for  the  last  three  years 
has  expressed  his  decided  conviction  that  I  shall  never  be  equal 
to  the  performance  of  active  missionary  duties ;  and  there  is 
much  reason  to  fear  that  loss  of  life  might  be  the  penalty  of 
remaining  through  another  rainy  season.  The  manner  of  effect- 
ing my  return  has  been  a  subject  of  great  anxiety  to  me.  A 
merchantman,  with  no  female  friend  or  medical  adviser  on 
board,  presents  but  a  forbidding  prospect ;  and  I  have  not  felt 
at  liberty  (looking  to  your  treasury  for  disbursement)  to  incur 


354  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

tlie  additional  expense  of  more  suitable  accommodations.  Even 
in  this,  however,  God  has  fulfilled  His  promise  to  those  who 
put  their  trust  in  Him.  A  few  friends  in  Bengal  have  proposed 
making  up  a  small  purse  as  a  tribute  to  the  departed,  which  I 
hope  will  be  suflScient  to  defray  all  expenses  over  and  above" 
those  usually  incurred  by  returning  missionaries.  I  therefore 
propose  lea^dng  here  in  the  January  steamer  for  Calcutta,  and 
thence  taking  an  English  passenger  ship  to  London,  which  port 
I  hope  to  reach  early  in  May.  May  I  be  assured  of  your 
prayers,  both  in  my  own  behalf  and  in  behalf  of  my  fatherless 
children  ? 

I  need  scarcely  say  that  the  action  of  the  Board  on  the 
subject  of  the  proposed  memoir  meets  my  most  cordial  concur- 
rence.    .     .     . 

The  choice  of  a  biographer  I  consider  to  be  a  question  of 
great  difficulty  and  delicacy,  and  one  on  which  I  can  not  but 
hesitate  to  express  a  decided  opinion.  The  common  tendency, 
I  think,  would  be  to  place  the  subject  at  a  cloudy  distance,  and 
divest  him  of  those  attributes  of  humanity  the  lack  of  which 
no  heroism  or  saint-like  quality  should  ever  be  thought  sufficient 
to  compensate.  Besides,  Dr.  Judson  possessed  a  strongly 
marked  character,  and  one  writer  might  seize  upon  one  view, 
another  upon  another,  and  a  third  upon  still  another ;  while 
each  representation  would  be  as  incomplete  as  the  description 
of  a  multiform  edifice  from  the  survey  of  a  single  side.  He 
needs  a  biographer  capable  of  grasping  his  whole  character  at 
once,  and  of  reconciling  and  harmonizing  its  singularly  diverse 
elements — ^its  delicacy  with  its  strength,  its  almost  unparalleled 
tenderness  with  its  uncompromising  sternness,  its  |pnsibility 
with  its  stoicism,  its  ardent  enthusiasm  with  its  cool  severity  of 
judgment,  its  frank,  genial  socialness  with  its  tendency  to  ascet- 
icism, its  discreet  and  quiet  caution  with  its  bold  fearlessness, 
its  patience  in  study  with  its  promptitude  in  action ;  its  impet- 
uous earnestness,  its  graceful  play  of  fancy,  its  humor,  with  its 
serene  dignity,  its  mock  seriousness,  the  simplicity  of  its  devotion, 


HOMEWAED   BOUND.  355 

and  its  constant  aspirations  after  holiness.  The  work  had 
better  never  be  performed  than  marred  by  weak  hands;  the 
character  had  better  remain  undelineated  till  the  judgment  day 
than  be  crippled  to  suit  the  powers  of  a  mind  less  capacious 
than  his  own.  In  addition  to  this,  his  life  has  been  such  a  com- 
plete exposition  of  the  age  in  which  it  began  and  ended,  that  a 
rapid  but  comprehensive  glance  at  these  times  will  be  an  essen- 
tial requisite  to  a  full  development  of  the  subject.  The  unseen 
influences  which  had  been  so  long  in  operation,  and  gradually 
tending  to  the  finally  bold  conjuncture ;  the  Spirit  of  God 
brooding  upon  the  dark  waters  until  they  were  finally  stirred 
beneath  it ;  the  new-born  light,  flashing  forth  in  the  Old  World, 
to  be  caught  up  and  reflected  from  the  walls  of  Andover ;  the 
progress  of  the  wondrous  work,  girdling  the  whole  earth  with 
its  slowly  advancing  glory  ;  all  this  requires  to  be  connected  and 
interwoven  in  such  a  manner  as  to  exemplify  the  dealings  of 
God  in  the  mightiest  movement  which  marks  this  age  of  wonders. 

Pardon  me  if  I  write  too  earnestly.  I  do  not  wish  to  over- 
step the  bounds  of  modesty,  but  it  is  a  subject  on  which  I  have 
a  right  to  feel  the  deepest  interest ;  and  yet  I  can  truly  say 
that  I  am  less  solicitous  for  my  husband's  honor  (which  I  believe 
would  be  safe  in  any  hands)  than  desirous  that  his  death  should 
subserve  the  interests  of  the  noble  cause  to  which  his  whole  life 
was  devoted. 

The  Committee  will  be  pleased  to  learn  that  the  mission  so 
far  anticipated  their  wishes  with  regard  to  the  monument  at 
Amherst  as  to  obtain  a  grant  of  the  ground  from  government, 
so  that  whatever  changes  occur,  the  spot  marked  by  the  hopia 
tree  will  remain  undisturbed. 

Again  thanking  both  you  and  the  Committee  for  your  cour- 
teous consultation  of  my  wishes,  your  kind  sympathy,  and  your 
expressed  interest   in  my  welfare,  believe  me,  my  dear  Mr. 
Bright,  with  the  highest  respect  and  esteem, 
Most  sincerely  yours, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 


356  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 


TO    MISS    ANABLE. 

January  20. 

Weary  and  desolate — weary,  worn,  and  desolate — oh,  Anna 
Maria,  my  path  is  mantled  by  the  very  "  blackness  of  dark- 
ness." I  am  on  the  eve  of  embarkation ;  one  day  more,  and  I 
leave  my  loving,  sympathizing  friends  here  to  plunge  into  the 
midst  of  strangers.  How  well  fitted  I  am  for  the  long  and 
lonely  voyage  you  will  imagine,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  have 
not  been  able  to  enter  the  nearest  mission  house  since  that 
fatal  April  but  once,  and  then  (two  weeks  since)  it  brought  on 
a  relapse,  from  which  I  am  still  suffering.  My  Calcutta  friends 
write  me  kindly — tenderly  even — and  though  they  are  stranger 
friends,  God  may  see  fit  to  turn  their  hearts  toward  me — I  don't 
know.  It  is  better,  of  course,  to  look  altogether  above  the 
world,  but  that  is  scarcely  possible  while  in  it.  O,  for  the  rest 
of  the  people  of  God?  I  sometimes  feel  that  it  would  be 
delightful  to  share  his  grave — but  then  the  children. 

On  the  22d  of  January,  1851,  Mrs.  Judson,  with  aching 
heart  and  tearful  eye,  bade  adieu  to  Maulmdn,  the  scene 
of  her  happiest  and  of  her  wretchedest  hours.  It  was  like 
death  to  tear  herself  away  from  the  place  hallowed  by  so 
many  delicious  and  sacred  memories — from  the  spot  where 
with  Jiim  she  had  so  long  lived,  and  hoped,  and  labored  ; 
from  the  missionaries  who  were  to  her  more  than  brothers 
and  sisters  ;  from  the  native  Christians,  whom  she  loved 
as  children.  Early  in  February,  with  slightly  improved 
health,  she  reached  Calcutta,  and  found  a  most  hospi- 
table welcome  and  delighful  home  in  the  family  of  Rev. 
Mr.  Mackay.  They  are  the  "  Wayside  friends"  of  the 
Olio.  Her  health,  however,  again  declined.  She  was 
prostrated  by  the  slightest  exertion,  and  unable  to  fulfill 
her  anxiously  cherished  wish  to  visit  the  mission  of  Ser- 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  357 

ampore,  and  the  grave  of  a  child  of  Dr.  Judson  that 
was  buried  there.  She  received  here,  besides  innumer- 
able other  kindnesses,  a  testimony  of  respect  to  the 
memory  of  her  late  husband,  in  a  liberal  donation  of 
three  thousand  rupees  (fifteen  hundred  dollars),  made 
by  Calcutta  gentlemen,  without  distinction  of  religious 
sect. 

She  writes  thus  to  Kev.  Dr.  Bright : 

Calcutta,  February  23, 1851. 

My  Dear  Mr.  Bright, — 

I  am  just  now  on  the  point  of  embarking  for  England,  after 
spending  some  three  weeks  in  this  place,  waiting  for  the  sailing 
of  the  vessel.  I  am  in  the  family  of  the  Rev.  W.  S.  Mackay, 
missionary  of  the  Free  Church  of  Scotland,  a  fine  scholar,  a 
-warm  hearted  Christian,  and  altogether  one  of  the  most  noble 
and  chivalrous  characters  I  ever  met.  Through  him,  I  have 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  large  circle  of  friends,  not  only  of 
his  own  church,  but  Episcopalians,  Independents,  etc.,  and  have 
also  met  with  all  the  English  Baptist  missionaries  in  town.  I 
have  been  too  ill  to  visit  Serampore,  which  I  regret  exceedingly, 
for  I  consider  it,  apart  from  family  associations,  a  place  of  deep 
missionary  interest.  "  The  Judson  Testimonial,"  a  subscription 
by  "  the  friends  and  admirers  of  the  late  Dr.  Judson"  (as  they 
style  themselves),  for  the  benefit  of  his  family,  amounted  to 
about  three  thousand  (Company's)  rupees ;  and  from  this  it  is 
my  intention  to  defray  all  the  expenses  of  my  passage  home, 
above  what  the  Board  would  have  to  pay  in  the  Washington 
Allston.  That  somewhat  unfortunate  vessel  entered  the  mouth 
of  the  Salwen  just  as  the  steamer  was  leaving  it.  I,  however, 
saw  Dr.  Dawson,  and  received  a  very  hurried  note  from  Mrs. 
Wade,  whom  I  was  distressed  to  pass  without  seeing.  At  this 
place  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  the  Kincaids  and  Mrs. 
Yinton ;  the  latter  looking  very  well,  but  poor  Mrs.  Kincaid 
had  almost  a  ghostly  appearance.     They  seemed  very  glad  to 


358  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.  JUDSON". 

learn  that  I  was  going  in  an  English  vessel,  and  the  very  one 
which  brought  them  from  the  Cape.  I  have  taken  my  passage 
(a  small  upper-deck  cabin)  on  the  Tudor^  Captain  Lay,  bound 
ior  London,  via  Madras,  Masulipatam,  and  the  Cape.  As  she 
touches  at  so  many  places,  I  anticipate  rather  a  long  voyage, 
but  there  is  every  prospect  of  its  being  a  pleasant  one,  at  least  so 
far  as  accommodations  and  society  are  concerned.  There  will 
be  at  least  two  pious  families  on  board,  perhaps  more.  I  pay 
for  myself,  three  children,  and  a  servant  girl,  fifteen  hundred 
rupees,  which  is  thought  to  be  a  very  moderate  sum.  I  was 
very  much  benefited  by  the  change  when  I  first  «ame  to  Calcutta, 
but  it  soon  passed  away,  and  since  then  I  have  been  growing 
more  and  more  poorly  every  day.  The  doctor  whom  I  have 
consulted  here  says  there  is  no  hope  for  me  but  in  a  long  voyage, 
and  thought  it  a  matter  of  regret  that  the  vessel  should  be  so 
long  delayed.  Then,  although  I  have  received  company  here 
mostly  on  my  couch,  I  know  it  has  injured  me,  and  I  anticipate 
great  benefit  from  the  quiet  of  the  vessel.  I  know  it  is  on  ac- 
count of  the  respect  for  my  sainted  husband  that  I  am  received 
so  well  here ;  and  I  can  assure  you  the  evidences  of  esteem  for 
him  which  meet  me  on  every  hand  are  deeply  gratifying  to  me. 
The  Missionary  Conference  (Scotch  Free  Church)  has  addressed 
me  a  beautiful  letter,  and  private  testimonials  are  almost  number- 
less. I  send  you  with  this  the  Calcutta  Review^  a  quarterly 
edited  by  Mr.  Mackay,  and'  containing  an  article  from  the  pen 
of  Major  Durand,  formerly  commissioner  of  the  Tenasserim 
provinces.  He  was  a  personal  friend  of  my  husband  and  the 
second  Mrs.  Judson,  and  has  also  shown  great  kindness  to 
me.  Through  Lord  Ellenborough,  with  whom  he  is  a  favorite, 
he  possesses  much  influence,  and  the  whole  of  it  is  exerted  in 
favor  of  pure,  genuine  Christianity.  It  will  be  a  blessed  thing 
for  missionaries,  and  for  the  heathen,  when  there  are  more  such 
men  in  the  East. 

I  feel  like  setting  up  an  Ebenezer  in  this  place  before  I  go,  for 
surely  the  Lord  has  thus  far  helped  me ;  but  I  still  go  on  my 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  359 

way  witli  fear  and  trembling,  not  knowing  what  is  before  me ; 
thougli  I  do  know  tbat  God,  even  my  God,  is  on  the  sea  as  on 
the  land.  It  is  not  very  probable  that  I  shall  reach  England 
before  the  end  of  June,  which,  will  bring  me  to  America  at  a 
very  favorable  season — the  hottest  of  the  year.  Do  not  forget 
to  pray  for  me  while  on  my  trackless  way,  and  also  for  my  poor 
little  ones,  that  however  desolate  in  other  respects,  we  may  have 
the  presence  of  our  Heavenly  Friend. 

Sincerely  and  affectionately  yours, 

Emily  C.  Judson. 

On  the  24th  of  February  she  embarked  with  her  three 
children  and  nurse  in  the  ship  Tudor ^  Captain  Lay,  for 
London,  to  retrace,  under  circumstances  how  sadly  al- 
tered, the  way  which,  five  years  before,  she  had  traversed 
with  a  heart  filled  with  hope,  and  an  idolized  husband 
by  her  side.  But  she  met  with  kindness  everywhere. 
The  captain  was  unweariedly  attentive  ;  her  fellow- 
passengers  courteous  and  respectful;  and  a  Mrs.  Thomas 
especially,  though  a  brilliant  woman  of  the  world,  yet 
by  her  unaffected  sympathy  and  warm-heartedness,  as 
well  as  by  her  intelligence,  won  a  large  place  in  the  heart 
of  the  stricken  widow.  Mrs.  Thomas'  husband  was  not 
with  her,  and  Mrs.  Judson  wrote  for  her — as  an  address 
to  him  in  his  absence — the  little  poem,  "Alone  upon 
the  Deep,  Love."  She  gazed  sadly  upon  the  receding 
shores  of  India ;  caught  for  the  last  time  "  the  spicy 
breezes"  that  blow  from  those  groves  of  balm  and  islands 
clothed  with  eternal  summer,  and  once  more  the  south- 
ern cross  looked  down  upon  her — but  with  a  deeper, 
sadder  meaning  than  when  she  first  gazed  on  it  through 
the  glowing  atmosphere  of  hope.  Its  strange  blended 
lesson  of  severity  and  kindness  she  thus  sweetly  inter- 
preted : 


360  LIFE   OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

TO   THE    SOUTHERN    CROSS. 

Sweet  empress  of  the  southern  sea, 

Hail  to  thy  loveliness  once  more ! 
Thou  gazest  mournfully  on  me, 

As  mindful  we  have  met  before. 

When  first  I  saw  the  Polar  Star 

Go  down  behind  the  silver  sea, 
And  greeted  thy  mild  light  from  far, 

I  did  not  know  its  mystery. 

My  Polar  Star  was  by  my  side. 

The  star  of  hope  was  on  my  brow  ; 
I  Ve  lost  them  both  beneath  the  tide, — 

The  cross  alone  is  left  me  now. 

Not  such  as  thou,  sweet  Thing  of  stars. 

Moving  in  queenly  state  on  high  ; 
But  wrought  of  stern,  cold  iron  bars. 

And  borne,  ah  me !  so  wearily ! 

Yet  something  from  these  soft  warm  skies 

Seems  whispering,  "  Thou  shalt  yet  be  blest  I" 
And  gazing  in  thy  tender  eyes. 

The  symbol  brightens  on  my  breast. 

I  read  at  last  the  mystery 

That  slumbers  in  each  starry  gem ; 
The  weary  pathway  to  the  sky — 

The  iron  cross — the  diadem. 

The  opening  of  their  voyage  had.  been  unwontedly 
propitious — so  that  Mrs.  Judson  felt  "ashamed  to  own  to 
sea-sickness; "  but  they  encountered  very  heavy  gales  be- 
fore reaching  Cape  Town.     They  arrived  here  about  the 


HOMEWARD   BOUND.  361 

26th  of  May,  and  remained  a  few  days,  Mrs.  Judson 
having  greatly  improved  in  health,  as  is  shown  by  the 
following  to  Mrs.  Stevens  : 

Would  you  not  be  astonished  to  see  me  getting  ready  for  a 
dinner  party,  three  miles  out  of  town,  at  the  fashionable  after- 
dark  hour  ?  They  have  a  joke  on  board  the  ship  that  the 
fairies  have  changed  me ;  for  I  am  not  the  same  person  that 
came  on  board  at  Calcutta.  And  they  are  right.  I  am  not  fat 
yet,  as  you  will  readily  believe,  but  my  complexion  is  entirely 
changed,  my  appetite  is  enormous,  and  nothing  that  I  can  eat 
or  drink  does  me  the  least  harm.  I  did  not  improve  much 
until  we  got  in  sight  of  land  which  was  about  five  weeks  before 
we  actually  landed.  The  first  gale,  which  was  frightful,  nearly 
killed  me  while  it  lasted ;  but  as  soon  as  it  was  over,  I  came 
out  a  new  creature,  and  from  that  moment  up  to  this,  I  have 
been  steadily  improving.  You  never  saw  me  when  I  was  so 
well  as  I  am  now.  Dear,  good  Captain  Lay  watches  my  face, 
and  notices  every  change,  and  it  is  "now  you  have  a  head 
ache,"  or  "  I  shall  not  ask  you  how  you  are  this  morning — your 
face  tells,"  or  "  now  you  need  this,"  etc.  His  kindness  is  almost 
incredible.  Every  moruing  after  I  got  well  enough  to  go  on 
deck,  he  would  come  to  my  cabin  door,  and  tell  me  whether  I 
had  better  come  out  or  not,  what  shawl  to  wear,  etc.,  and  dur- 
ing the  gales,  when  we  were  all  shut  up  in  our  darkened  cabins, 
he  took  my  boys  and  Mrs.  Thomas's  into  his  cabin  to  relieve 
us,  and — but  there  is  no  use  in  trying  to  enumerate — he  does 
EVERY  thing.  His  attentions  to  us  who  have  no  protectors,  are 
not  merely  the  attentions  of  a  courteous  gentlemanly  com- 
mander, but  the  thoughtful  watchfulness  of  a  brother  or  hus- 
band. 

"  I  beg,''  she  says  in  a  letter  to  her  sister,  "  that  you 
will  never  call  the  English  cold-hearted  any  more.     So 

far  as  I  have  seen  here,  they  are  all  heart ;  and  even 

16 


362  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

you  and  Mrs.  Stevens  could  scarcely  be  kinder  to  me 
than  six  or  eight  of  the  prominent  passengers  on  the 
Tudorr 

About  the  first  of  June  they  left  Cape  Town,  and 
reached  London  about  the  middle  of  August.  "I  find 
my  health/'  she  writes  to  Dr.  Peck,  '^  improved  by  the 
voyage,  long  and  stormy  as  it  was,  and  the  sallow  Indian 
cheeks  of  my  children  are  beginning  to  glow  with  English 
roses."  She  took  quiet  lodgings  at  the  West  End,  but 
the  kindness  of  her  English  friends  soon  drew  her  from 
them,  and  gave  her  fresh  tokens  of  that  large  English 
hospitality  which  she  had  so  often  experienced  in  the 
East.  She  made  her  stay  chiefly  with  W.  B.  Gurney, 
Esq.,  and  with  Kev.  Joseph  Angus,  of  Stepney  College. 
Her  stay  in  London,  though  fatiguing  was  very  delight- 
ful. Besides  visiting  the  principal  objects  of  interest 
to  a  stranger,  and  being  "introduced  to  a  wide  circle 
of  English  acquaintances,"  and  forming  "ties  which 
death  will  not  have  the  power  to  dissever,"  she  also 
met  Kev.  Messrs.  Oncken  and  Lehman,  from  the  Conti- 
nent, and  expresses  her  peculiar  pleasure  in  meeting 
"many  who  have  hazarded  their  lives  for  Christ,  and 
others,  their  still  dearer  reputations." 


^  CHAPTER    XXII. 

HOME. 

"Dear  mother,  in  thy  prayer  to-night 

There  come  new  hopes  and  warmer  tears ; 
On  long,  long  darkness  breaks  the  light — 
Comes  back  the  loved,  the  lost  for  years." 

But  her  heart  was  hastening  homeward,  and  the  gen- 
erous kindness  of  her  British  friends  could  detain  her 
hut  little  over  a  month.  On  the  20th  of  September  she 
embarked  from  Liverpool,  in  the  steamer  Canada,  for 
Boston,  and  early  in  October,  1851,  set  foot  on  her 
native  shores — a  little  more  than  five  years  after  she  had 
left  it  for  the  East.  How  different  the  present  from 
that  hour  of  weeping  gladness  !  Yet  the  welcome  she 
now  received  was  undoubtedly  more  deep  and  heartfelt 
than  the  tumultuous  God-speed  which  had  accompanied 
her  departure.  Then,  misgivings  existed  in  many  minds 
that  would  not  utter  them,  lest  the  brilliant  romance- 
writer  might  fail  in  the  practical  qualities  and  self-deny- 
ing duties  of  the  missionary.  She  had  gone  through  the 
ordeal,  and  come  out,  like  gold  from  the  furnace, 
approved  and  refined.  She  had  proved  a  faithful  wife  to 
Dr.  Judson,  and  a  most  competent  mother  to  his  children. 
She  had  entered  zealously,  intelligently,  and  efficiently 
into  his  labors  ;  had  overcome  all  prejudices,  and  won 
the  hearts  alike  of  the  native  Christians  and  of  her  associ- 
ates in  the  mission.     She  had  shown  great  natural  cour- 


364  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

age,  tempered  and  exalted  by  Christian  principle.  She 
had  borne  up  under  her  crushing  weight  of  sorrow  with 
a  high,  heroic  heart ;  and,  now  that  she  brought  back 
her  deceased  husband's  children  from  the  scene  of  his 
life-labors,  the  enthusiasm  of  her  reception  mighUjvell 
be  "  not  loud,  but  deep,''  and  the  welcome  which  greeted 
her,  not  from  the  lips  of  the  many,  but  from  the  hearts 
of  the  few.  Among  others  was  her  daughter  Abby  Ann, 
and  her  fliithful  friend.  Miss  Sheldon,  came  on  from 
Philadelphia. 

The  fatigue  and  excitement  of  landing,  however,  were 
too  much  for  her  frail  constitution,  and  she  was  imme- 
diately attacked  by  an  illness  which  confined  her  several 
days  to  the  bed.  She  had  intended  making  an  imme- 
diate visit  to  Miss  A.  Judson,  at  Plymouth,  but  was 
obliged  to  forego  it,  and  proceed  with  the  least  possible 
delay  to  Hamilton.  She  had  previously  to  make  a  dis- 
position of  the  elder  sons,  Adoniram  and  Elnathan,  and 
of  Abby  Ann,  all  of  whom  were  placed  at  once  upon 
her  hands.  Her  slender  health  rendered  impossible  her 
assuming  the  care  of  more  than  the  three  younger  ones, 
whom  she  had  brought  from  India.  She  was  relieved 
from  her  anxiety  regarding  the  two  elder  sons  by  the 
kindness  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Bright,  who  received  them  as 
members  of  their  own  family ;  Abby  Ann  she  deter- 
mined to  place  with  Miss  Anable,  assured  that  she  would 
be  watched  over  with  equal  judiciousness  and  affection. 
These  arrangements  made,  she  proceeded  to  Hamilton — 
Miss  Sheldon  and  Abby  Ann  accompanying  her.  The 
meeting  with  the  loved  home  circle  I  shall  not  attempt 
to  describe,  nor  the  emotions  with  which  she  recrossed 
the  paternal  threshold.  With  a  deeper  emphasis  and  a 
profounder  meaning  might  she  now  have  said  : 


HOME.  365 

A  welcome  for  thy  child,  father, 

A  welcome  give  to-day. 
Although  she  may  not  come  to  thee 

As  when  she  went  away. 

II  was  now,  not  the  poetry,  but  the  reality,  of  change. 
"Long  years — long,  though  not  very  many" — ^had  writ- 
ten their  record  of  stern  experiences  on  her  brow  and 
heart.  Providence  had  falsified  lier  predictions,  and 
brought  them  together  again  on  this  side  of  the  final 
meeting-place.  Little  was  changed  in  the  outward  aspect 
of  her  home,  and  the  years  that  had  been  so  eventful  to 
her  had  glided  tranquilly  over  the  heads  of  its  inmates. 
But  her  mother's  form  had  lost  much  of  its  erectness ; 
time  had  plowed  deeper  furrows  into  the  cheek  of  her 
father  ;  and  her  brother  Wallace  had  matured  and 
changed  beyond  her  recognition ;  but  the  old  affection 
glowed  in  the  hearts  of  all.  She  had  sought  and  found 
the  ark  once  more,  and  into  the  bosom  of  maternal  and 
sisterly  love  she  could  pour  out  all  her  joys  and  all  her 
sorrows. 

She  had  received  on  landing  the  intelligence  that  El- 
nathan  was  rejoicing  in  a  newly  found  hope  in  Christ. 
No  tidings  could  be  more  joyful  to  her  than  that  her 
late  husband's  children  were  walking  in  the  truth.  With 
her  joy,  however,  she  mingled  discretion,  and  wrote  to 
him,  advising  a  little  deferral  of  a  public  profession  by 
baptism.  She  adds,  however  :  "  In  the  meantime,  do  not 
forget  that  you  have  ^  put  on  Christ '  in  deed  and  in 
word  ;  that  you  are,  as  we  humbly  trust,  a  member  of 
His  spiritual,  though  not  yet  united  to  His  visible 
Church  :  and  strive  to  honor  Him  in  all  things.  Let  '  the 
beauty  of  holiness'  be  continually  visible  in  your  charac- 


366  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

ter,  and  try  to  win  Adoniram  to  the  shelter  of  the  same 
cross,  not  so  much  by  words  (though  words  are  some- 
times necessary),  as  by  showing  him  what  a  lovely  thing 
it  is  to  be  conformed  to  Christ/' 

An  early  object  of  attention  was  the  securing  of  a 
memoir  of  her  late  husband,  such  as  should  meet  the 
public  demand,  and  do  justice  to  such  a  life.  The  Exe- 
cutive Committee  of  the  Union,  whose  servant  he 
had  been  for  many  years,  proffered  their  utmost  aid  in 
its  accomplishment.  Through  their  agency,  Kev.  Dr. 
Wayland  was  engaged  to  prepare  the  work,  Mrs.  Judson 
undertaking  to  collect  and  arrange  the  materials.  With 
generous  benevolence  Dr.  Wayland  proposed  to  execute 
his  part  of  the  work  without  compensation,  leaving  its 
entire  profits  to  the  widow  and  children.  This  arrange- 
ment made  it  necessary  for  her  to  pass  the  winter  in 
Providence,  after  a  brief  visit  to  her  daughter  and 
friends  in  Philadelphia. 

Another  attack  of  illness  (her  steadily  intermittent 
friend),  and  she  proceeded  early  in  November  to  Phila- 
delphia. She  found  Abby  Ann  happily  situated.  The 
meeting  with  her  friends  of  so  many  years — the  dearest 
out  of  her  own  father's  house — whose  faithful  love  and 
sympathy  had  followed  all  her  checkered  fortunes,  could 
not  but  be  deeply  affecting.  They  had  watched  the 
dawning  of  her  literary  reputation  ;  with  them  she  had 
shared  all  her  sweetest  and  bitterest  experiences  ;  and 
the  renewal  of  her  friendship  with  them  was  among 
the  dearest  joys  which  she  could  now  promise  to  her- 
self on  earth.  Her  stay  with  them,  however,  was  short ; 
and  having  refreshed  herself  by  the  communion  of  friend- 
ship, and  made  the  needed  arrangements  for  her  daugh- 
ter, she  hastened  on  to  Providence  to  the  work  which 


HOME.  367 

she  felt  among  her  most  immediate  and  sacred  obliga- 
tions. She  took  lodgings  for  herself  and  the  three  chil- 
dren that  had  gladdened  her  Indian  home  ;  the  elder 
boys  were  with  Dr.  Bright  in  Eoxbury,  and  Geo.  D. 
Boardman,  a  member  of  Brown  Universityj  was  able 
to  beguile  many  of  her  desolate  hours  with  conversation 
and  reading. 

On  the  first  of  December  she  sent  out  her  missives  in 
all  directions  in  quest  of  materials.  Her  efforts  were  not 
very  successful.  Dr.  Judson's  utter  disregard,  or  rather 
morbid  dread  of  posthumous  reputation,  had  secured  the 
destruction  of  all  papers  illustrative  of  his  life,  over 
which  he  had  any  control ;  and  time,  fire,  and  water  had 
done  an  effectual  work  on  the  bulk  of  his  correspondence. 
The  ample  records  of  the  mission  rooms  were  placed  at 
her  disposal ;  some  valuable  documents  were  furnished 
by  individuals  ;  and  her  personal  reminiscences  would, 
of  course,  abundantly  illustrate  that  portion  of  his 
history  with  which  her  own  was  linked. 

Thus  armed  with  her  documents,  she  went  to  work, 
reading,  selecting,  copying,  digesting,  commenting,  and 
where  her  own  knowledge  availed,  filling  out  the  de- 
ficient materials,  and  thus  pioneering  the  path  of  the 
biographer.  The  industry  and  judgment  with  which  she 
performed  her  task  were  alike  remarkable.  So  ill  that 
she  could  write  but  a  few  hours  a  day,  and  then  suffer- 
ing from  a  pain  in  the  side  which  made  writing  a  tor- 
ture, she  wrought  steadily  on,  bending  into  shape  and 
preparing  for  use  the  intractable  materials. 

"  Whatever  value  this  memoir  may  possess,''  says  Dr. 
Wayland  in  his  preface,  "  must  be  ascribed  in  no  small 
degree  to  the  assistance  which  I  have  received  from  Mrs. 
Judson.     She  arranged  for  me  all  the  letters  and  papers, 


368  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

furnished  me  with  information  which  no  other  person 
could  possess,  and  has  communicated  notes  and  remin- 
iscences which  will  be  found  among  the  most  interesting 
portions  of  the  work." 

Dr.  Wayland's  reminiscences  of  Mrs.  Judson  at  this 
time,  and  his  general  estimate  of  her  character,  he  has 
kindly  furnished  to  me  in  the  following  interesting  and 
most  just  article  : 

Pkovidenoe,  Aug.  1, 1860. 

Rev.  and  Dear  Sir, — 

In  compliance  with  your  request,  I  cheerfully  send  you 
a  few  reminiscences  of  the  late  Mrs.  Emily  Judson.  I  regret 
that  they  are  so  brief  and  imperfect.  I  commenced  them  some 
time  since,  but  an  attack  of  illness  obliged  me  to  lay  them 
aside,  and  now  I  am  unable  to  do  much  more  than  transcribe 
what  I  had  then  written. 

My  acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Judson  hardly  commenced  before 
her  return  from  Burmah.  I  had  seen  her  for  a  few  minutes 
on  two  previous  occasions,  but  had  no  conversation  with  her 
beyond  the  interchange  of  ordinary  civilities.  I  had  been  led 
to  suppose  that  she  devoted  herself  exclusively  to  light  litera- 
ture, and  though  I  have  heard  her  spoken  of  as  a  person  of 
sincere  piety,  had  formed  no  exaggerated  anticipations  of  her 
success  as  a  missionary.  During  her  absence,  I  learned  with 
some  surprise  that  she  had  acquired  the  Burmese  language  with 
almost  unprecedented  facility  ;  that  she  was  able  to  use  it  in 
conversation  and  in  devotional  meetings  with  the  natives ;  and 
had  composed  some  hymns  in  this  difficult  tongue,  for  the  wor- 
ship of  the  sanctuary.  It  was  soon  told  of  her  how  she  had 
surpassed  the  anticipations  of  her  friends;  how  in  delicate 
health  she  had  distinguished  herself  by  self  denying  labors  for 
the  salvation  of  the  women  of  Burmah,  and  had  cheerfully 
accompanied  her  husband  to  Rangoon,  where  she  would  be  iso- 
lated entirely  from  European  civilization,  and  be  exposed  to  the 


HOME.  369 

ragings  of  a  fanatical  mob,  and  the  caprices  of  ignorant  and 
despotic  power. 

Shortly  after  her  return,  it  fell  to  my  lot  to  prepare  a  memoir 
of  Dr.  Judson,  and  in  this  labor  I  was  permitted  to  avail  myself 
of  her  assistance.  For  this  purpose  she  came  to  Providence, 
and  resided  for  several  months  in  my  immediate  neighborhood. 
I  of  course  saw  her  very  frequently,  and  was  in  the  habit  of 
conversing  with  her  with  the  utmost  freedom  respecting  mis- 
sions in  general,  and  the  missions  to  the  East  in  particular  ;  and, 
in  fact,  on  almost  every  subject  connected  with  the  pr£)gress  of 
religion  in  the  world. 

The  first  thing  that  struck  me,  upon  becoming  acquainted 
with  Mrs.  Judson,  was  the  remarkable  contrast  that  presented 
itself  between  her  material  and  spiritual  nature.  She  had  been 
ill  during  almost  the  whole  of  her  residence  in  Burmah,  and 
was  incurably  sick  on  her  arrival  in  this  country.  I  think  I 
never  saw  a  person,  able  to  walk  across  a  room,  whose  motions 
indicated  so  great  a  degree  of  physical  debility.  It  seemed  as 
though  she  would  have  fallen  to  the  floor,  if  any  person  had 
accidentally  jostled  against  her.  She  was  generally  unable  to 
rise  before  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  was  confined  to 
the  couch  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day.  She  was,  for  a  time, 
a  member  of  my  family,  and  I  strongly  urged  upon  her  slight 
exercise  in  the  open  air.  She  took  my  advice  and  made  the 
attempt.  I  however  found  immediately  that  I  had  mistaken 
her  case,  and  that  an  effort  which  I  considered  very  slight,  was 
wholly  beyond  her  strength.  I  was  perfectly  willing,  after- 
wards, to  allow  her  to  judge  for  herself  in  all  matters  respecting 
her  health.  I  would  not  convey  the  idea  that  she  was  always 
at  this  point  of  extreme  debility.  She  was  at  times  slightly 
invigorated,  but  each  alternation  of  improvement  and  decline 
left  her  more  thoroughly  prostrated,  until  she  entered  into  rest. 

But  in  the  midst  of  this  exhausting  debility,  her  intellect 
retained  a  vigor  which  I  have  rarely  seen  equaled.  So  com- 
plete a  victory  of  mind  over  matter  it  has  never  been  my  good 

16* 


370  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

fortune  elsewhere  to  observe.  Over  that  feeble  and  attenuated 
body  she  exercised  a  perfect  control,  and  all  that  it  was  possible 
for  it  to  do  it  did  at  her  bidding.  Though  sinking  steadily  into 
the  grave,  she  was  able  to  accomplish  more  than  most  women 
in  perfect  health.  She  was  actively  employed  in  arranging  for 
my  use  the  voluminous  letters  and  papers  from  which  her  hus- 
band's memoir  was  compiled.  At  the  same  time  she  felt  it 
necessary  to  write  for  the  press,  and  prepare  her  works  for  new 
editions ;  her  correspondence  was  extensive ;  and  the  care  of 
her  husband's  family,  which  had  devolved  upon  her,  was  exer- 
cised with  incessant  vigilance,  and  a  soundness  of  judgment 
and  tenderness  of  affection  which  I  have  rarely  seen  equaled. 
Those' who  knew  of  her  only  as  the  author  of  pleasant  tales  for 
the  young,  could  hardly  believe  that  the  power  of  condensed 
thought,  the  logical  acuteness,  and  the  indignant  sarcasm  which 
marked  her  letters  to  a  certain  New  York  publisher,  could  have 
proceeded  from  the  pen  of  Fanny  Forester.  Those,  however, 
who  knew  her  intimately,  perceived  in  them  nothing  but  the 
workings  of  a  mind  which  they  knew  to  be  equal  to  any  emer- 
gency, intensified  by  the  necessity  laid  upon  her  of  guarding 
the  character  of  her  husband  from  misrepresentation,  and  of 
defending  the  interests  of  her  children,  soon  to  be  left  orphans, 
from  what  she  believed  to  be  a  selfish  and  cruel. injustice. 

Her  religious  character  was  elevated  and  equable.  Her 
faith  rarely  faltered,  even  in  times  of  the  sorest  extremity.  She 
had  formed  the  habit  of  relying  on  her  Father  in  heaven  as  a 
living  and  ever  present  God,  who  had  always  cared  for  her  as 
beloved  child,  and  she  never  doubted  that  He  would  do  so  to 
the  end.  Conscious  that  she  in  all  things  submitted  to  His  will, 
and  desired  in  all  things  to  serve  Him,  she  relied  in  implicit 
faith  on  all  His  promises.  That  God  would  help  her  in  every 
extremity,  and  guide  her  by  His  wisdom  to  correct  decisions, 
seemed  with  her  a  thing  taken  for  granted.  Yet  it  was  not  a 
boastful  and  loud-spoken  trust  that  animated  her.  It  revealed 
itself  only  to  her  most  intimate  friends,  and  to  them  only  inci- 


HOME.  371 

dentally.  It  was  a  guiding  and  directing  power  that  responded 
to  every  prayer,  but  of  which  she  only  spoke  when  the  particu- 
lar occasion  seemed  to  render  it  appropriate.  Such  occasions 
might  occur  when  she  differed  in  opinion  on  some  practical 
matter  from  her  counsellors.  They  then  saw  that  there  was 
an  unerring  Guide,  on  whom  she  relied  in  preference  to  all  the 
wisdom  of  this  world ;  nor  was  her  trust  often  disappointed. 

Her  piety  was,  besides,  of  the  most  cheerful  character.  She 
seemed  habitually  to  live  on  the  borders  of  the  unseen  world, 
and  almost  within  sight  and  hearing  of  its  glorious  reali- 
ties. The  friend  whom  she  loved  best  was  already  there,  and 
she  seemed  ever  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  society.  She  knew 
that  their  separation  from  each  other  must  be  short,  and  while 
on  earth  she  was  intensely  desirous  to  complete,  as  far  as  possi- 
ble, the  work  which  he  had  left  unfinished.  This  idea  expanded 
itself  over  every  thing  that  pertained  to  the  cause  of  the  Re- 
deemer on  earth.  She  was  sustained  in  every  labor  by  the 
thought  that  she  was  cooperating,  not  only  with  the  good  on 
earth,  but  with  the  holy  in  heaven,  and  suffering  for  Him  who 
is  the  Captain  of  our  salvation. 

Nor  was  there  in  all  this  any  thing  dreamy  or  mystical.  She 
was  an  eminently  practical  woman,  and  a  most  accurate  judge 
of  character.  In  this  latter  respect  her  sagacity  was  unerring. 
Her  administrative  talent  was  remarkable,  and  would  have  easily 
placed  her  in  the  front  rank,  whenever  she  was  called  upon  to 
cooperate  with  others. 

To  all  these,  which  rank  among  the  stronger  elements  of 
character,  she  added  exquisite  feminine  delicacy,  and  great  per- 
manency and  strength  of  affection.  No  person  could  possibly 
have  been  rude  or  unfeeling  to  a  woman  of  so  refined  sensibili- 
ties. Her  poetical  address  to  her  mother  presents  a  true  picture 
of  her  aff'ections.  To  her  mother  she  was  attached  with  more 
than  filial  love,  yet  the  outgoings  of  the  same  sentiments  were 
manifest  to  all  that  she  had  ever  loved,  or  who  had  ever  done 
her  a  kindness. 


372  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

For  several  of  tlie  last  years  of  Mrs.  Judson's  life,  she  resided 
at  so  great  a  distance  from  Providence  that  I  did  not  often  see 
her.  Her  final  sickness  and  death  were,  however,  in  all  respects 
similar  to  her  life.  I  count  it  a  special  blessing  that  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  her  acquaintance,  and  that  I  was  permitted,  in  some 
humble  manner,  to  alleviate  her  sorrows,  and  assist  her  to  bear 
the  burdens  which  our  Heavenly  Father  saw  fit  to  lay  upon  her. 
I  doubt  not  that  the  memoir  which  you  have  prepared  will 
make  it  evident  that  I  have  in  no  manner  exaggerated  the  re- 
markable elements  of  the  character  of  Mrs.  Judson. 
I  am,  reverend  and  dear  sir, 

Yours  truly, 

F.  Wayland. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

THE      RESTEUNG      HARP. 

"My  gentle  harp,  once  more  I  -waken 

The  sweetness  of  thy  skimbering  strain ; 
In  tears  our  last  farewell  was  taken, 
And  now  m  tears  we  meet  again." 

Toward  the  close  of  the  winter,  having  completed  the 
heaviest  part  of  her  lahor  on  the  memou',  she  turned  to 
authorship  on  her  own  account,  and  commenced  the 
preparation  of  a  volume  of  poems,  consisting  of  some  of 
her  earlier  pieces,  and  such  of  her  later  ones  as  were 
unpublished,  or  floating  in  the  public  journals.  She 
called  it  an  "  Olio  of  Domestic  Verses,"  "  as,"  she  says, 
"  I  am  not  a  poet,  and  am  not  going  to  claim  to  be  one  on 
my  title-page."  It  was  sent  in  May,  "  after  innumerable 
touchings  and  polishings,"  to  Mr.  Colby  of  New  York  for 
publication.  There  doubtless  are  some  pieces  in  the  vol- 
ume which  can  claim  to  be  only  "  verses ;"  others  which 
are  poetry,  though  unfinished  ;  but  others  which  are  the 
sterling  article,  and  which,  in  spite  of  her  disclaimers, 
vindicate  for  her  that  "  glance  of  melancholy  "  which  is 
the  "fearful  gift"  of  the  poet.  I  reserve  more  specific 
remarks  for  the  notice  of  its  publication. 

Mrs.  Judson  had  been  much  tried  in  regard  to  her 
permanent  arrangements  for  herself  and  children.     Her 


374  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  0.  JUDSON. 

favorite  idea  had  been  to  gather  them  under  one  roof  and 
commence  housekeeping ;  but  hitherto  the  miserable 
state  of  her  health  had  almost  cut  off  the  hope  of  reali- 
zing her  desire.  Her  health  had  latterly  improved,  and 
she  again  began  to  contemplate  the  measure,  and  balance 
the  claims  of  different  localities.  Warm  and  cherished 
friendships,  a  mild  climate,  and  city  advantages  for  her 
children,  concurred  in  recommending  Philadelphia  ;  but 
its  expensiveness  formed,  with  her  limited  resources  and 
delicate  health,  a  serious  objection,  and  after  all  her 
heart  turned  back  to  Hamilton.  The  home  of  her 
parents,  with  its  quiet  rural  beauty,  and  excellent  school 
advantages,  attracted  her  thither.  She  purchased  a 
larger  and  more  commodious  house,  with  the  purpose  of 
removing  her  parents  into  it,  and,  if  unable  to  spend  the 
entire  year  there  herself,  of  making  it  a  summer  resi- 
dence, and  an  occasional  gathering  place  for  the  children. 

Before  leaving  Providence  in  May,  she  had  contem- 
plated making  a  visit  with  her  children  to  Miss  Abigail 
Judson  at  Plymouth,  and  had  fixed  the  day  for  her 
going;  but  her  life-enemy  prevented.  A  fresh  attack 
of  bleeding  at  the  lungs  (she  had  repeatedly  raised  blood 
during  the  winter,  and  had  cough  and  pulmonary  fever) 
prostrated  her ;  and  it  was  deemed  madness  for  her  to  go, 
at  that  season,  into  so  rough  a  climate  as  that  of  Ply- 
mouth. As  soon,  therefore,  as  she  rallied  from  her  attack 
she  proceeded  to  Hamilton,  whither  also  she  was  called  by 
the  serious  illness  of  her  mother.  In  June,  she  took  pos- 
session of  her  new  house  and  commenced  housekeeping. 

Early  in  August  she  had  a  family  reunion — all  the 
surviving  children  who  had  sustained  blood  or  legal  rela- 
tions to  her  late  husband  and  herself,  being  gathered 
into  one  group.    Being  on  the  ev^of  departure  for  Europe, 


THE   RESTRUNG   HARP.  375 

I  now  spent  a  few  days  at  Hamilton,  and  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  tliem  together.  The  house  which 
they  occupied  had  formerly  been  my  home,  and  many 
painfully  pleasing  associations  clustered  about  it.  It 
needed  but  a  glance  to  see  that  they  were  a  very  happy 
family,  and  that  the  mother,  with  no  natural  tie  to  either 
of  them  but  one,  moved  among  them  as  a  superior  spirit, 
gentle,  aifectionate,  intellectual,  swaying  them  with  the 
sure  mastery  of  knowledge  and  of  love.  They  had  an 
evening  gathering  of  many  village  friends,  at  which  they 
exhibited  a  series  of  tableaux,  arranged  under  the  pre- 
siding skill  and  taste  of  the  mother.  The  scenes  were 
mostly  oriental ;  and  veritable  oriental  costumes  brought 
the  strange  and  picturesque  life  of  the  East  vividly  before 
the  eye,  while  they  must  have  crowded  her  heart  with 
at  once  happy  and  tearful  memories. 

I  had  not  before  seen  Mrs.  Judson  since  she  moved 
among  us  a  happy  bride  on  the  eve  of  her  departure  for 
India.  "Time  had  not  blanched  a  single  hair"  that 
clustered  around  her  smooth  and  ample  forehead.  It 
had  but  touched  her  features  with  a  soft  and  mellowinor 
hand,  and  rounded  her  slender  form  into  somewhat  more 
of  matronly  fullness  and  dignity.  The  varied  experi- 
ences and  larger  intercourse  of  life  had  given  ease  and . 
polish  to  her  manner ;  and  the  companionship  of  her 
noble  husband,  and  the  inspiring  scenes  with  which  she 
had  been  conversant,  had  lent  a  deeper  light  to  her  eye, 
and  depth  and  ripeness  to  her  whole  tone  of  thought  and 
conversation.  Altogether  she  was  a  rare  specimen  of 
womanly  loveliness  ;  not  handsome  with  any  common- 
place prettiness  of  feature  ;  but  her  dark  eye  and  intel- 
lectual countenance  beaming  with  those  spiritual  graces 
which  lend  her  highest  charm  to  woman.     Her  conver- 


376  LIFE    OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

sation,  turning  on  many  topicsf  was  free  and  vivacious  ; 
with  none  of  the  slight  tinge  of  affectation  which  in  earlier 
years  timidity  had  sometimes  forced  upon  her ;  but  replete 
at  once  with  feminine  delicacy  and  masculine  good  sense  ; 
while  the  exceeding  feebleness  of  her  health  scarcely  low- 
ered the  buoyancy  of  her  spirits.  I  parted  from  her, 
strongly  hoping  that  the  delicate  flower,  so  manifestly 
blooming  for  Paradise,  might  shed  its  fragrance  through 
many  earthly  summers  ;  I  returned  a  little  more  than  a 
year  later  to  find  it  already  drooping  on  its  stalk,  and 
bending  toward  the  tomb. 

"  My  health,''  she  writes  to  her  friend  Miss  Haven, 
"  is  better  than  when  I  saw  you  last  winter,  and  if  I 
could  only  get  strong  enough  to  sit  up  all  day,  I  would 
keep  my  children  all  together.  The  little  warning  cough, 
however,  haunts  me  still,  so  the  will  of  God  be  done  ! 

.  .  I  do  not  feel  anxious  about  the  memoir,  but  a 
good  deal  discouraged.  The  lost  papers  and  the  name- 
less grave  seem  to  me  just  a  part  of  the  oblivion  he 
courted."  Her  discouragement,  I  need  scarcely  say,  had 
respect  exclusively  to  the  scantiness  of  materials. 

The  family  gathering,  delightful  as  it  was,  could  last 
but  a  few  weeks.  Early  in  September,  Abby  Ann  left 
for  Philadelphia,  and  on  the  Sabbath  preceding  Mrs. 
Judson  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  Adoniram  and 
Elnathan  baptized  into  the  communion  of  the  Church. 
She  writes,  September  9,  to  Miss  A.  Judson  : 

"  You  may  he  assured,  my  dear  sister,  that  to  me  it  was  a 
day. of  mingled  rejoicing  and  trembhng.  The  boys  will  remain 
with  me  until  I  can  secure  them  some  good  place.  They  are 
getting  so  old  now  that  hoard  and  the  proper  care  while  they 
are  fitting  for  college  will  cost  me  many  days  and  nights  of 
hard  labor ;  hut  if  it  be  God's  will  that  I  should  live  to  care  for 


THE  RESTRUNG  HARP.  377 

them,  to  labor  and  suffer,  it  is  all  tliat  I  ask.  To  train  up  the 
six  children  committed  to  my  care  for  usefulness  in  this  world 
and  happiness  in  the  next,  is  all  that  I  can  hope  to  do.  Abby 
left  under  more  serious  impressions,  probably,  than  she  ever  had 
before  in  her  life.  May  God  bless  the  conversion  of  her  brothers 
to  her  own  conversion." 

September  11  she  writes  thus  to  Abby  Ann  : 

"I  have  just  wiped  up  eyes  after  reading  your  tear-provoking 

letter.     .     .     .     has  been  very  kind  to  you,  but,  my  dear 

child,  do  not  let  your  serious  impressions  evaporate  in  gratitude 
toward  him.  Think  how  infinitely  more  the  Saviour  has  done 
for  yott,  is  doing  for  you  even  now ;  and  how  He  stands  plead- 
ing with  His  Father  to  spare  you  yet  another  year.  Do  not, 
my  darling,  allow  these  feelings  to  pass  without  any  result  except 
the  hardening  influence  which  such  feelings  are  sure  to  produce 
unless  they  soften.  .  .  .  Meanwhile,  my  daughter,  try  to 
be  conciliating.  Adopt  your  father's  motto,  '  Sweet  in  temper, 
face,  and  words.'  Another  of  his  mottoes  was,  '  Sweetness  is 
the  blossom,  love  the  root,  and  kindness  the  fruit  of  true 
virtue.'  " 

During  the  summer  Mrs.  Judson  contributed  occasion- 
ally, as  her  health  allowed,  to  The  Macedonian,  a  small 
monthly  sheet  of  the  Missionary  Union.  In  August  the 
"  Olio"  appeared,  accompanied  by  a  modest  and  graceful 
preface,  deprecating  severe  criticism,  and  stating  that 
some  of  the  pieces  were  written  in  early  childhood. 
This  is  very  well,  yet  " a  book's  a  book,"  and  no  amount 
of  deprecatory  prefacing,  probably,  can  or  should  shield 
a  writer  who  comes  voluntarily  before  the  public  from 
an  impartial  estimate  of  its  merits.  The  reception  of 
the  ''  Olio,"  though  favorable,  was  not  enthusiastic.  Its 
plan,  as  a  collection  in  part  of  her  juvenile  pieces,  while 


378  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

it  might  gratify  her  friends,  and  mark  her  intellectual 
progress,  stood  yet  in  the  way  of  its  general  popularity. 
It  would  have  been  wiser  to  pitch  the  tone  of  the  book 
and  her  poetic  claims  higher,  inserting  nothing  but  what 
was  worthy  of  her  matured  powers,  and  leaving  the 
gleanings  from  her  portfolio  to  another  and  later  hand. 
Some  of  the  pieces,  too,  whose  merit  warrants  their  in- 
sertion, should  have  been  subjected  to  a  severer  criticism. 
The  two  or  three  epigrams  have  not  sufficient  wit  and 
point  to  redeem  their  want  of  dignity.  "  The  Septem- 
ber Kain"  is  an  obvious  imitation  of  the  "  Last  Leaf," 
but  with  none  of  the  mingled  humor  and  pathos,  and 
the  delicate  finish  of  that  exquisite  ^e^^  d' esprit.  "  Peter" 
is  modeled  upon  Longfellow's  "Skeleton  in  Armor;"  but 
the  wild  and  somewhat  rough  structure  of  the  verse  is 
less  adapted  to  the  subject  than  to  that .  of  the  weird 
Scandinavian  legend :  still,  with  some  faults  of  execution, 
it  is  a  poem  of  much  picturesque  and  descriptive  power. 
"  Samson"  is  a  sort  of  rude  torso,  containing  the  ele- 
ments, imperfectly  worked  up,  of  a  fine  poem.  Some 
of  the  lighter  pieces,  as  "My  Bonny  Sleigh,"  "Thou 
hast  left  me  alone,"  etc.,  are  replete  with  the  delicate 
and  airy  grace  of  the  genuine  song  writer.  "  Stern 
Duty"  is  spirited  and  brilliant — an  outgush  of  excited 
and  lofty  feelings.  Its  difficult  structure  makes  success 
in  it  a  greater  triumph  ;  and  the  noble  strain  of  the 
poem,  and  the  perfection  of  parts  of  it,  make  us  doubly 
regret  the  lack  of  polish  in  the  rest.  "  The  Choice"  is 
an  ideal  representation  of  the  youthful  Judson  turning 
away  from  the  lures  of  science,  poesy,  and  eloquence, 
that  he  may  devote  himself  to  the  divine  work  of  bearing 
the  message  of  spiritual  life  to  the  nations.  The  con- 
cention  is  happy,  and  though  written  because  she  was 


THE   EESTRUNG   HARP.  379 

too  ill  to  do  any  thing  else,  it  is  wrought  with  no  little 
poetic  power.  The  "  Wan  Eeapers/'  though  one  of  her 
later  pieces,  and  on  a  favorite  topic,  is  one  of  her  least 
successful  ones.     The  prosaic  harshness  of  such  lines,  as 

For  laborers,  for  laborers,  we  pray ; 

and  the  tautological  tameness  of  a  line,  like 

There  the  rose  never  blooms  on  fair  woman's  wan  cheek, 

should  have  laid  them  under  the  ban  of  a  taste  less  severe 
than  that  of  Mrs.  Judson.  Woman  has  been  "fair"  ever 
since  the  days  of  Eve  and  Helen,  and  we  need  not  be  told 
that  the  cheek  is  "  wan,"  upon  which  the  "  rose  never 
blooms,"  besides  that  "  fair"  and  "  wan"  stand  in  almost 
incongruous  relation. 

But  while  open  to  these  criticisms,  it  is  but  justice  to 
add  that  the  volume  evinces  throughout  much  poetic 
feeling,  power  of  language,  and  skill  in  versification ; 
and  that  some  of  the  pieces,  especially  those  which  turn 
on  her  heart  history,  are,  in  conception  and  execution, 
almost  faultless.  "Love's  Last  Wish,"  "My  Bird," 
"Contentment,"  "Watching,"  "Angel  Charlie,"  "Sweet 
Mother,"  "  The  Southern  Cross,"  are  poems  in  which 
the  deepest  emotions  of  the  heart  gush  forth  in  a  tide 
of  purest  song,  and  which,  while  taste  and  feeling  live, 
will  be  reckoned  among  the  Muses'  choicest  breathings. 
They  are  the  distillation  of  the  life-drops  of  a  most 
sensitive  and  exquisite  nature,  and  have  the  merit 
which  belongs  to  the  blending  of  the  finest  powers  of 
fancy  and  feeling.  Though  feeling  is  her  deepest  foun- 
tain of  inspiration,  and  she  is  most  successful  in  themes 
dictated  by  the  heart,  yet  even  in  these  the  passionate 


380  LIFE  OF   MRS.  EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

element  is  by  no  means  exclusive,  nor  always  predomi- 
nant. Her  imagination  idealizes  the  creation  of  passion, 
and  taste,  instinctive  and  unerring,  presides  over  their 
joint  creation.  Thus,  in  several  of  her  pieces,  the 
rhythm,  the  metre,  the  structure  of  the  stanza,  the  im- 
agery, all  unite  harmoniously  in  one  common  impression. 
"Contentment"  is  a  beautiful,  though  not  the  most  strik- 
ing example.  In  "  Watching,"  the  lines  swell  and  undu- 
late to  the  passing  emotion  with  the  elasticity  of  air  ;  the 
elements  which  make  up  the  picture  of  an  oriental  night 
are  happily  selected ;  and  the  same  power  of  imagination 
which  makes  Lear  reproach  the  heavens  for  storming  on 
his  aged  head,  "for  that  ye  yourselves  are  old/'  makes 
the  very  shadows  to  sway  to  her  eye 

With  gentle  human  care, 
Compassionate  and  dumb. 

"  Sweet  Mother "  is  even  more  remarkable — a  piece 
over  which  the  very  "  blackness  of  darkness "  seems  to 
brood,  scarcely  illuminated  at  the  close  by  some  glimpses 
of  light,  enough  to  relieve  the  intensity  of  gloom,  but 
not  to  impair  the  general  keeping,  of  the  picture.  The 
imagery  is  all  harmonious  ;  the  successive  elements  are 
poured  drop  by  drop  into  the  bitter  cup  of  her  misery  ; 
the  intensified  repetition  of  each  closing  line  (finer  in 
this  respect  than  that  in  Hoyt's  "  Old'')  sounds  like  an 
echo  from  the  sepulchre,  while  the  opening — 

The  wild  southwest  monsoon  has  risen 
On  broad,  gray  wings  of  gloom — 

is  at  once  one  of  the  finest  of  images,  and  forms  a  fitting 
prelude  to  the  dreary  monotone  of  woe  which  follows. 


THE   RESTRUNG   HARP.  381 

These,  with  several  pieces  written  subsequently,  must 
take  their  place  among  the  precious  poetical  gems  of  our 
literature.  Their  emotional  intensity  and  strictly  indivi- 
dual character  may,  perhaps,  keep  them  from  being  bandied 
about  in  school-books  and  volumes  of  elegant  extracts. 
"We  shrink  from  playing  with  heart-strings,  and  regaling 
our  ears  with  even  the  most  melodious  utterances  of  real 
woe.  When,  however,  sorrow  is  idealized,  as  in  Milton's 
"Lycidas^and  Mrs.  Judson's  "Angel-Guide" — when  pas- 
sion puts  on  the  drapery  of  imagination — we  may  gratify 
our  tastes  without  reproaching  ourselves  with  invading 
the  sanctity  of  grief. 

The  first  edition  of  the  "'Olio"  was  soon  exhausted, 
and  a  second  was  called  for  in  September.  Still  her 
moderate  exj)ectations  of  profit  from  it  were  not  more 
than  met.  She  had  a  heavy  charge  upon  her  hands — 
really  not  less  than  ten  persons — for  whose  support  the 
income  from  her  deceased  husband's  property,  from  Alder- 
brook,  and  from  the  memoir  of  Mrs.  Sarah  B.  Judson 
(which,  since  her  return,  had  been  made  over  to  her  by 
the  Executive  Board),  was,  even  with  the  rigid  economy 
which  she  knew  so  well  how  to  practice,  entirely  inade- 
quate. The  provision  made  by  the  Union  for  the  widows 
of  missionaries,  she  had,  from  motives  of  delicacy,  declined 
receiving,  and  felt  the  necessity  of  exerting  her  powers 
to  the  utmost. 

She  now  prepared  a  volume  which  might  at  once  supply 
her  deficient  income  and  aid  the  cause  (dearest  to  her  of 
all)  of  foreign  missions.  It  was  made  up  of  mission- 
ary essays,  written  for  the  Macedonian,  and  of  several 
other  essays  and  poems,  hitherto  unpublished.  It  was 
entitled  the  "Kathayan  Slave,"  from  the  opening  nar- 
rative of  the  book,  which  recounts  a  scene  of  horrible 


382  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  JUDSON. 

cruelty  and  torture  that  occurred  in  the  prison  at  Ava, 
during  the  English  and  Burmese  war  of  1826.  It  was 
published  by  Ticknor  &  Fields,  of  Boston,  but  failed  of 
a  recej^tion  corresponding  with  its  merits.  Its  elements 
of  interest  were  too  remote,  perhaps,  for  popular  appre- 
hension and  sympathy ;  but  I  doubt  if  anything  from 
her  pen  gives  to  the  thoughtful  reader  a  higher  impres- 
sion of  her  genius.  Its  picturesque  and  dramatic  talent 
is  the  same  that  enlivens  the  pages  of  Fanny  Forester, 
while  the  chastened  and  sustained  diction  is  suited  to 
the  position  of  the  writer  and  the  gravity  of  the  themes 
discussed.  The  "  Kathayan  Slave,"  the  "  Legend  of 
the  Maizen,"  and  "  Wayside  Preaching,"  are  all  wrought 
with  admirable  simplicity,  beauty,  and  pathos.  The 
"Madness  of  the  Missionary  Enterprise"  finds  its  text  in 
several  diatribes  of  journals  and  reviews  on  the  reckless 
waste  of  life  in  modern  missions,  while  it  draws  its  occa- 
sional inspiration  from  the  tomb  of  Ann  H.  Judson, 
beside  which  it  was  written,  during  her  month's  stay 
with  her  sick  husband  at  Amherst.  It  is  a  most  beauti- 
ful and  eloquent  plea  for  missions — an  argument  of  mas- 
culine cogency,  distilled  in  the  alembic  of  a  woman's 
heart.  It  exhibits  the  so-called  infatuation  of  the  vota- 
ries of  missions  in  a  light  which  assures  us  that  it  must 
spring  from  some  higher  than  earthly  principle  ;  finds 
that  animating  principle  in  love,  and  closes  with  a  glow- 
ing prediction  of  its  destined  triumph.  It  is  argument 
running  molten  in  a  tide  of  holy  passion. 

Of  the  poetic  pieces,  the  Lines  to  Kev.  Daniel  Has- 
call,  are  a  tribute  to  a  man  of  rare  personal  excellence, 
who,  as  a  leading  founder  of  the  seminary  that  has  sent 
forth  such  a  host  of  missionaries,  had  wrought  power- 
fully, though  indirectly,  on  the  mission  cause.    One  of 


THE   RESTRUNG  HARP.  383 

the  finest  little  pieces  in  the  volume  delineates  a  most 
touching  scene  connected  with  the  death  of  Boardman. 
It  is  a  sketch  full  of  life  and  heautj^  redolent  of  the 
fragrance  and  glowing  with  the  sunshine  of  an  Oriental 
landscape.  It  is  a  fit  companion-piece  to  "  Watching," 
reproducing,  like  that,  with  great  vividness,  the  peculiar 
features  of  the  Orient ;  like  that  in  its  beautiful  blend- 
ing of  the  physical  with  the  moral ;  and,  like  that,  shed- 
ding the  charm  of  verse  over  the  dying  agonies  of  a 
Christian  hero. 

In  November,  Mrs.  Judson,  having  placed  her  older 
sons  with  Kev.  Mr.  Aldritch,  of  Middleborough,  Mass., 
to  be  prepared  for  college,  went  again  to  Philadelphia, 
to  avoid  the  rigors  of  a  New  York  winter,  visit  with 
her  friends  there,  and  watch  over  the  rapidly  developing 
character  of  her  daughter,  Abby  Ann.  Henry  and  Ed- 
ward she  left  in  Hamilton,  under  the  care  of  Mr.  Os- 
borne, a  student  in  the  University,  in  whose  piety  and 
discretion  she  reposed  much  confidence.  "My  Bird" 
went  with  her. 

The  reader  will  remember  that  just  seven  years  had 
elapsed  since,  in  this  very  month,  Fanny  Forester,  then 
in  the  full  flush  of  her  new  found  reputation,  had  come  to 
the  same  place  on  the  same  errand,  in  part,  as  now — the 
enjoying  of  a  milder  climate.  How  had  that  coming 
controlled  her  destiny  !  Thither  Providence  soon  after 
brought  Dr.  Judson  ;  and  thence  on,  through  the  inter- 
vening seven  years,  what  a  rush  of  unlooked  for  and 
strange  experiences  had  swept  over  her  outward  and  her 
inner  life  !  The  wife  of  one  of  the  world's  moral  heroes 
— five  years  spent  among  dark  faces  and  darker  hearts, 
amidst  luxuriant  nature  and  a  dwarfed  civilization,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  globe — widowed  under  circum- 


384  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

stances  of  fearful  agony,  and  now  (broken  in  health 
and — no,  not  blighted  in  spirit) — again  at  home,  the 
mother  of  six  fatherless  children,  and  again  in  the  city 
where  she  had  met  the  dear  departed,  and  vowed  the 
vow  that  had  linked  their  destinies  for  eternity  !  What 
emotions  crowd  upon  her  as  she  thinks  of  the  now  and 
the  then,  and  the  tide  of  experiences  that  roll  between  ! 
Does  she  question  her  own  identity  ?  Whether  she,  the 
bereaved  one,  that,  "  with  weary  foot  and  broken  wing," 
seeks  now  the  sheltering  bosom  of  love,  is  the  laughing, 
buoyant  Fanny  Forester  of  that  earlier  day  ? 

And  what  verdict  does  she  pronounce  on  the  past — on 
the  choice  which  then  linked  hers  to  a  missionary's  lot  ? 
Would- she  turn  back  to  the  cup  of  sweetness  which 
mantled  tocher  lips,  from  that  cup  of  bitterness  which 
she  has  drunk  ?  Would  she  turn  back  to  the  path 
which  lay  so  bright  before  her,  from  the  thorny  way 
which  she  has  trodden  ?  Would  she  clutch  at  the 
chaplet  of  earthly  fame,  that  promised  to  grace  her 
brows,  and  fling  aside  the  "iron  cross — the  diadem," 
which  is  her  pledge  of  immortality  ?  Did  she  ask  her- 
self these  questions,  and  can  we  doubt  what  was  her 
reply  ?  Can  we  doubt  that  her  heart  swelled  with 
grateful  joy  to  the  Saviour  who  had  ordained  her  lot 
with  such  severity  of  kindness  ;  who  had  turned  her 
from  the  phantoms  of  earth  to  the  realities  of  heaven  ; 
who  had  linked  her  life,  however  short  and  troubled, 
with  those  great  moral  movements  which,  as  certainly  as 
the  truth  of  Grod,  are  to  open  out  into  the  consummated 
glories  of  a  world's  redemption  ? 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

THE      MOTHEE. 

"  Still  with  thouglitfal  care  providing, 
Sweetly  ruling,  softly  chiding, — 
Such  the  mother's  gentle  guiding." 

Mrs.  Judson  spent  the  winter  with  her'friends,  Miss 
Sheldon  and  the  Anahles.  On  her  arrival  in  Philadel- 
phia she  found  that  Ahby  Ann's  religious  seriousness 
had  ripened  into  a  confirmed  Christian  hope,  and  she 
had  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  her  public  profession  of 
her  faith  in  Christ.  In  reference  to  her  coming  baptism 
she  writes  to  the  boys  : 

It  will  not  be  as  pleasant  as  last  summer — but  God  will 
accept  the  act  of  public  consecration  all  the  same.  I  did  not 
wish  Abby  to  hurry  matters ;  but  to  neglect  so  grave  a  thing  as 
taking  a  decided  stand  for  Christ  among  her  schoolmates,  sim- 
ply because  it  would  be  more  gratifying  to  defer  the  act  of 
obedience,  made  me  fear  that  if  God  did  not  punish  us  all  by 
clouding  over  our  next  family  meeting,  He  might  withdraw 
some  of  His  sunshine  from  her  heart.  It  is  better  even  in  the 
smallest  things  to  obey  God  than  to  please  ourselves ;  or  rather, 
it  is  better  to  find  our  pleasure  and  happiness  in  obeying  Him. 
It  was  decidedly  Abby's  preference,  in  view  of  all  things,  to  go 

17 


386  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

forward  now.  She  is  very  steadfast,  as  well  as  very  gentle  and 
lovely. 

We  have  all  been  suflfering  from  influenza.  Eddy  has  recov- 
ered, but  poor  little  Emmy  is  making  a  fortnight  fever  of  it,  and 
I  am  not  much  behind  her.  I  chanced  to  hear  Abby  remark,  the 
other  day,  that  she  wished,  if  her  brothers  sent  her  any  Christ- 
mas presents,  they  would  send  something  of  their  own  manufac- 
ture^ and  not  buy.  Perhaps  you  are  not  aware  how  much 
more  valuable,  in  the  eyes  of  those  who  love  you,  such  gifts 
are,  than  those  that  come  out  of  a  shop.  "  A  word  to  the 
wise,"  etc. 

Elly,  you  know  that  I  am  no  enemy  to  "  corn  and  chestnuts," 
except  as  my  own  weak  stomach  might  soon  cry  "enough." 
.  .  .  You  are  no  great  capitalist  now,  to  be  sure,  and  arc  not 
likely  to  be,  if  you  become  a  minister  or  missionary ;  but  always 
consider  yourself  the  steward  of  God,  even  if  you  have  but  a 
penny,  and  use  your  penny  conscientiously.  Have  under  all 
circumstances,  even  if  it  should  be  your  lot  to  be  subjected  to 
poverty  and  sickness,  a  little  sacred  fund,  etc.,  etc.  You  know 
all  I  would  say,  and  a  great  deal  more  than  I  can  say  in  so 
small  a  compass.  And  I  do  not  write  all  this  because  I  am 
afraid  you  will  fail  in  being  generous  and  charitable,  but  because 
I  want  you  to  have  some  system  in  your  benevolence,  and  never 
to  regard  giving  or  not  giving  as  a  mere  matter  of  preference. 
Neither  do  I,  as  I  said  before,  think  corn  and  chestnuts  wicked- 
ness. Bread  and  butter  may  be  made  wicked,  under  certain 
circumstances.  Now  even  chestnuts  are  indifferent  matters — to 
be  had  or  not  had,  as  things  may  go — but  your  mite  for  the 
Lord's  treasury  is  not  a  thing  of  indifference.     .     .     . 

I  am  glad  you  skate — only  look  out  for  a  safe  place,  remem- 
bering that  the  shallowness  of  the  water  would  contribute  little 
to  your  safety  with  your  head  under  ice.  I  like  to  have  you 
engage  heartily  in  all  these  winter  sports,  and  with  equal  hearti- 
ness in  your  studies.  *'  A  healthy  mind  in  a  healthy  body  "  is 
beyond  price.     My  dear  boys,  you  do  not  know  how  thankful 


THE   MOTHER.  387 

I  feel  to  our  Heavenly  Father  for  all  His  kindness  to  us  in  our 
desolation,  and  especially  for  having  taken  so  many  of  the  fam- 
ily, as  I  trust,  into  His  own  great  family.  .  .  .  Abby  sends 
a  hundred  somethings  of  love,  and  Emmy  something  which 
seems  to  stick  half  way  between  kitties  and 


from  a  letter  of  a  little  earlier  date  to  abby  ann. 

My  Dearest  Abby — 

I  have  been  amused,  pained,  pleased,  and  deeply  interested, 
by  your  frank,  open-hearted  letter,  received  this  morning. 

"Standing  with  reluctant  feet, 
Where  the  brook  and  river  meet, 
Womanhood  and  childhood  fleet ; 

Gazing,  with  a  timid  glance, 
On  the  brooklet's  swift  advance, 
On  the  river's  bfoad*expanse  :" — 

There  is  where  you  are,  my  dear  child ;  you  are  too  old  to  be 
a  little  girl  any  more,  and  you  are  not  yet  prepared  to  be  a 
woman.     This  is  an  awkward  point  in  the  life  of  most  girls. 

^ L has  passed  gracefully  over  it,  because  (that  is,  in 

my  hasty  judgment,  for  you  know  I  have  seen  but  little  of  her), 
she  is  of  a  natural  temperament  too  serene  to  be  disturbed  by 
any  thing.  With  you  it  would  naturally  be  otherwise,  but  never 
mind  that ;  you  will  be  in  the  broad,  deep  river  soon,  and  then 
I  expect  to  see  you,  if  not  a  model  woman,  a  very  intelligent, 
agreeable,  useful  one.  You  need  not  apologize  for  writing  me 
such  letters.  I  want  heart  letters — all  your  little  troubles,  and 
big  ones,  too — your  resolutions  broken  or  kept.  I  think,  though 
some  would  disagree  with  me,  that  it  is  better  to  make  a  reso- 
lution and  break  it,  than  not  to  make  one  at  all,  just  as  it  is 
better  to  try  to  be  good,  and  fail,  than  never  to  try.  I  am  glad 
you  "  knew  what  I  would  say,"  even  though  you  are  so  faithless. 
Prayer  is  your  only  hope,  connected  with  constant  effort.     The 


388  LIFE    OF  MRS.   EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

whole  of  life  is  a  struggle  with  the  evil  that  is  in  us,  and  God 
is  our  only  efficient  helper.  Do  you  not  believe  that  I  would  lift 
you  out  of  all  your  embarrassments  in  one  moment  if  I  could  ^ 
Christ  loves  you  infinitely  more  than  I  do — more  than  your  own 
sainted  mamma,  even — and  will  not  He  afford  you  assistance  ? 
But  He  is  so  much  wiser  than  I  that  He  knows  how  much  self- 
culture,  how  much  discipline,  how  much  faith  and  trust  you 
need,  and  He  is  watching  and  waiting  to  assist  you  in  the  most 
efficient  manner.  It  is  not  His  purpose  to  make  you  a  passive 
recipient  of  His  bounty — a  mere  machine — and  in  your  wiser 
moments  you  would  not  wish  that.  Persevere,  then,  in  resolv- 
ing, and  praying,  and  endeavoring,  and  so  sure  as  the  promise 
of  God,  you  will  be  successful.  But  do  not  think,  my  dear 
child,  that  the  only  place  to  pray  is  on  your  knees  in  the  closet. 
This  ought  to  be  done,  formally,  at  least  twice  every  day ;  but 
this  does  not  fulfill  the  apostolic  injunction,  "Pray  without 
ceasing."  Whenever  temptation  comes  in  your  way  throuajh 
the  day — when  you  feel  anger  rising — when  you  go  to  study  a 
lesson,  but,  more  particularly,  when  you  enter  the  recitation 
room,  let  your  ejaculation  rise  from  your  heart,  though  your 
eye  may  be  open  and  your  lip  smiling  ;  "  0  God,  help  me !" — 
"  Make  me  wise  !" — "  Make  me  calm  !" — "  Give  me  the  right 
feeling !" — "  Control  my  tongue !" — "  Give  me  patience  !"  Any 
thing  that  you  feel  you  have  need  of,  ask  in  a  single  thought, 
and  it  will  soon  become  habitual  to  you.  This  practice  you 
will  find  a  source  of  great  power. 

I  certainly  do  not  think  a  young  lady  "  who  never  read  a 
novel  in  her  life"  the  best  person  to  direct  your  reading.  I 
would  not  object  to  a  volume  of  Scott  for.  you  in  vacation,  and 
neither,  I  think,  would  Miss  An  able.  I  would  rather,  however, 
you  would  do  but  little  reading  in  term  time,  for  the  reason  that 
I  suspect  your  general  reading  already  to  be  in  advance  of  your 
school  education;  and  you  will  have  plenty  of  time  to  read 
when  you  get  too  old  to  attend  school.  Scott  is  a  healthful 
writer,  both  of  prose  and  poetry,  and  Campbell's  poetry  is  a 


THE   MOTHER.  389 

tiling  for  you  to  read  and  re-read  when  you  get  time  from  school 
duties.  But  I  do  not  like  to  have  you  read  Moore.  Lalla 
Rookh  is  exceedingly  beautiful ;  but  a  girl  reading  it  is  very 
much  in  the  condition  of  a  fly  in  a  pot  of  honey — a  girl  of  feel- 
ing and  imagination,  I  mean.  I  dare  say  there  are  girls  so 
insensible  as  not  to  be  injured  by  it.     .     .     . 

.  I  give  these  simply  as  specimens  of  the  very  large  cor- 
respondence which  Mrs.  Judson  carried  on  with  her 
children.  It  would  be  impossible,  without  far  more 
copious  extracts  than  my  limits  would  allow,  and  im- 
possible even  then,  to  do  justice  to  the  unwearied  care, 
the  judicious  and  patient  fidelity  with  which  she  dis- 
charged her  relation  to  them  as  a  mother,  and  watched 
over  all  their  interests.  Nothing  was  too  minute  for  her 
vigilant  eye  ;  nothing  deemed  unimportant  of  the  thou- 
sand elements  that  might  go  to  form  their  characters  and 
determine  their  destiny.  Her  care  extended  to  all  points 
of  manners,  habits,  mental  and  moral  culture  and  growth, 
while,  at  the  same  time,  she  studied  carefully  their 
diversities  of  temperament,  and  cherished,  rather  than 
repressed,  their  buoyancy  of  spirit.  There  was  nothing 
narrow^  or  obtrusive  in  her  care.  She  discriminated 
clearly  between  the  essential  and  the  non-essential ; 
made  large  allowances  for  the  natural  thoughtlessness 
of  youth ;  knew  how  to  allow  a  generous  liberty  for 
all  that  was  innocent,  and  yet  to  guard  sedulously 
against  the  first  encroachment  on  the  forbidden  or 
doubtful  region.  Hence  she  exercised  over  her  children, 
through  all  stages  of  their  culture,  an  almost  unbounded 
influence.  They  felt  that  her  hand  was  equally  gentle 
and  firm  ;  that  her  care  was  equally  affectionate  and 
discriminating  ;  that  she  looked  down  into  the  depth  of 
their  natures,  and  understood  better  than  themselves 


390  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

both  their  motives  and  their  interests.  She  was  thus 
exceedingly  successful  in  her  training,  and  even  those  of 
the  children  who  had  passed  the  impressible  period  of  child- 
hood, felt,  during  their  brief  visits  with  her,  powerfully 
her  influence  for  good.  And  especially  her  ardent  desire 
and  her  unwearied  effort  was  to  lead  them  into  the  path 
of  piety.  Few  of  her  letters  but  that  urge  upon  them 
affectionately  their  spiritual  duties — upon  those  who  had' 
made  no  profession  of  piety,  the  duty  of  seeking  the 
Saviour — upon  those  who  had,  the  duty  of  growing  Christ- 
ian consecration. 

During  December  and  the  early  part  of  January,  Mrs. 
Judson's  health  so  far  improved  that  she  half  indulged 
the  hope  of  permanent  recovery.  "  I  am  getting,"  she 
writes,  "  so  well,  I  do  not  fear  the  cold  weather  ;"  and 
she  was  meditating  a  return  to  Hamilton  during  the 
winter.  But  these  bright  prospects  were  suddenly  over- 
clouded. She  was  seized,  about  the  middle  of  January, 
with  congestion  of  the  lungs,  which  confined  her  to  her 
room,  and  much  of  her  time  to  her  bed.  She  wrote 
to  Greorge  Boardman : 

My  pen  is  not  very  busy.  I  can  not  take  it  up  but  I  get  a 
genuine  scolding.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  write  any  more, 
and  so  we  shall  have  to  take  to  starvatidn  for  a  living.  But 
what  can  you  mean  by  complimenting  my  skill  in  polemics  ? 
I  never  wielded  a  lance  except  once,  to  ward  off  the  attack  of 

-dear,  good ,  and  then  I  put  a  feather  pillow  on  the  end. 

I  have  rather  taken  to  rhyming  than  fighting,  and  mean  to 
take  out  a  patent  for  my  machine.  The  "  Kathayan  Slave," 
the  title  of  my  forthcoming  work,  is  nearly  half  through  the 
press." 

Here  an  ominous  gape  in  the  letter  shows  that  the 


THE   MOTHER.  391 

coil  of  disease  was  drawn  still  tighter  around  her,  and 
that  her  prospects  of  labor  were  even  more  seriously 
broken  in  upon.  Her  letters  to  her  children,  however, 
were  never  neglected  while  she  could  hold  a  pen,  and 
they  always  breathe  the  same  cheerful,  loving.  Christian 
spirit. 

Her  literary  labors  were,  of  course,  in  a  great  meas- 
ure suspended.  Still,  besides  carrying  the  "  Kathayan 
Slave"  through  the  press,  she  found  time  and  strength 
to  draw  up  that  touching  little  memorial  of  sisterly  affec- 
tion, "My  Two  Sisters,"  subsequently  published  by 
TickDor  &  Fields.  She  also  wrote  some  very  sweet 
pieces  of  poetry  :  among  them,  "  The  Child  of  Sin,"  a 
touching  ballad,  founded  on  fact ;  "St.  Yalen tine's 
Eve,"  exquisite  in  its  finish,  and  "My  Angel  Guide/' 
The  following  little  piece  was  addressed  to  Abby  Ann, 
in  connection  with  a  Christmas  present  of  a  bracelet 
made  from  a  lock  of  her  mother's  (Mrs.  S.  B.  Judson's) 
hair,  with  the  word  "Mother"  engraved  on  the  clasp, 
and  on  the  reverse  her  own  initials,  "E.  C.  J."  The 
reader  will,  of  course,  remember  that  Abby's  mother  was 
buried  in  the  Island  of  St.  Helena. 

THE     BRAID      OF     GOLD. 

TO  ABBT. 

I  bring  my  child  a  braid  of  gold 
To  mark  this  Christmas  morning, — 

But  rather  round  thy  heart  to  fold, 
Than  for  thine  arm's  adorning. 

Its  gleam  first  caught  thine  infant  eyes, 

When,  far  beyond  the  water, 
A  meek  saint  bent  in  love's  sweet  guise. 

And  soft  lips  whispered  "  daughter." 


392  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.    JUDSON. 

Thou  saw'st  it  last  on  that  wild  night, 

Forgotten  never— never ! 
When  Death's  black  shadow  crossed  thy  light, 

And  orphaned  thee  forever. 

Now  round  where  rests  its  golden  twin 
Wild  mournful  waves  are  sweeping ; 

And  o'er  the  roof  that  shuts  it  in 
A  peepul  tree  leans  weeping. 

The  saintly  head  which  wore  this  tress — 

Too  oft  a  crown  of  sorrow — 
Bows  but  to  regal  blessedness 

Through  heaven's  eternal  morrow. 

So  wear,  my  child,  this  golden  braid^ 
Thus  doubly  stamped  with  mother ; 

And  while  upon  my  bosom  laid. 
Love,  reverence  the  other. 

Early  in  June,  1853,  she  bade  adieu  to  her  friends  in 
Philadelphia,  and  proceeded  to  Providence,  where  her 
aid  was  needed  in  some  matters  relative  to  the  memoir, 
now  nearly  completed,  especially  in  settling  the  question 
of  a  publisher.  She  was  the  guest  of  Dr.  Wayland,  and 
by  his  request  read  over  the  manuscript  which  he  had 
prepared.  Her  letters  express  the  highest  gratification 
with  the  labors  of  the  biographer. 

From  Providence  she  went  to  Newton,  where  she 
again  enjoyed  the  hospitalities  of  the  family  of  Mr.  Gard- 
ner Colby.  She  formed  the  acquaintance  of  Miss  Ella 
Covell,  the  lovely  and  gifted  young  lady,  to  whom  her 
son,  George  D.  Boardman  (then  in  the  Newton  Theo- 
logical Seminary),  was  affianced  ;  and  making  her  long 
anticipated  visit  to  Miss  Judson  at  Plymouth,  had  the 


THE  MOTHER.  3^ 

moutnful  pleasure  of  communing  with  her  over  the 
memory  of  him  whom  they  both  so  tenderly  lamented. 

The  latter  part  of  June  found  her  again  at  Hamilton, 
giving  what  of  time  and  strength  disease  allowed  chiefly 
to  the  forthcoming  memoir.  Illness  in  his  family  had 
compelled  Dr.  Way  land  to  commit  almost  entirely  to 
other  hands  the  task  of  carrying  the  now  completed  work 
through  the  press.  This  was  performed  by  the  joint 
labors  of  herself  and  Kev.  Dr.  Bright.  Dr.  Bright  care- 
fully read  over  the  first  proofs,  and  then  sent  the  sheets 
to  Mrs.  Judson,  who,  on  her  sick  bed,  went  anew  over 
the  whole.  How  great  a  labor  this  imposed  upon  her 
in  her  invalid  state  can  be  judged  only  by  those  who  have 
gone  through  a  like  task.  But  she  had  the  satisfaction 
of  laboring  for  a  noble  end,  and  of  feeling  when  it  was 
done  that  a  work  had  been  produced  worthy  of  its  sub- 
ject, and  a  noble  monument  reared,  not  only  to  the 
memory  of  her  late  husband,  but  to  the  power  of  that 
Christian  principle  which  had  inspired  his  labors. 

The  little  book  which  she  had  prepared  while  in  Phila- 
delphia she  had  not  then  sent  to  the  press  ;  she  now  put 
to  this  also  the  finishing  hand.  It  is  a  little  volume  of  one 
hundred  and  twelve  pages — a  beautiful  and  feeling  tribute 
to  two  characters  of  uncommon  lovehness.  It  is  written 
with  that  peculiar  felicity  and  grace  so  natural  to  Mrs. 
Judson's  pen,  and  by  which  she  gave  a  charm  to  the  most 
common-place  incidents.  But  Lavinia  and  Harriet  Chub- 
buck  were  no  common-place  characters,  and  this  little 
record,  added  to  the  history  of  Mrs.  Judson,  shows  con- 
centrated in  this  family  a  rare  wealth  of  mental  and  moral 
endowments.     The  work  was  issued  in  the  winter. 

The  memoir  of  her  husband -was  published  in  Sep- 
tember.     The  reputation  both  of  its  subject  and  its 

17* 


394  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

author  was  alike  a  guaranty  for  its  intrinsic  excellence 
and  interest,  and  for  its  favorable  reception  with  the 
public.  Mrs.  Judson,  besides  procuring  and  arranging 
the  materials,  and  contributing  to  it  valuable  reminis- 
cences, had  aided  largely  in  carrying  it  through  the 
press,  and  might  naturally  look  forward  to  its  sale  as 
a  source  of  permanent  and  needed  income  to  the  large 
family  whom  her  husband  had  left  dependent  upon  her 
— ^and  all  the  more  needed,  as  her  steadily  declining  health 
warned  her  that  they  would  soon  be  left  wholly  orphans. 
But  while  trembling  between  life  and  death,  her  prospects 
were  threatened  by  an  event  as  unanticipated  as  it  was 
painful.  On  her  landing  in  Boston  she  had  received 
from  a  publishing  house  in  New  York  a  copy  of  a  memoir 
of  Dr.  Judson  prepared  after  his  death,  and  proposing  to 
pay  her  fifty  dollars  on  each  thousand  copies  sold.  The 
proposition  Mrs.  Judson  quietly  declined,  not  wishing  by 
any  act  to  sanction  this  as  a  final  and  authoritative 
memoir  of  her  husband.  The  gentlemen  who  had  made 
what  they  undoubtedly  intended  as  a  liberal  proposal 
were  not  united  with  her  by  denominational  ties,  and 
she  neither  deemed  the  matter  surprising,  nor  requiring 
any  special  protest.  But  she  was  now  called  to  deal 
with  a  different  matter. 

In  October,  just  as  the  work  of  Dr.  Wayland  was  fairly 
coming  before  the  public,  a  Baptist  publisher  of  New 
York  advertised  as  about  ready  a  cheaper  memoir  of  Dr. 
Judson,  in  a  single  volume,  for  the  benefit  of  Sabbath 
schools,  and  of  those  who  should  be  unable  or  unwilling 
to  purchase  the  more  voluminous  and  expensive  work  of 
Dr.  Wayland.  On  what  principle  of  morality  or  courtesy 
the  author  of  this  project  could  justify  to  himself  this  inva- 
sion of  the  moral  rights  of  Mrs.  Judson  and  her  family,  it 


THE   MOTHER.  395 

is  difficult  to  see.  He  probably  argued  that  his  proposed 
publication  would  circulate  chiefly  among  a  class  whom 
the  larger  and  more  elaborate  work  would  not  reach.  Yet 
it  required  but  a  fraction  of  an  ordinary  publisher's 
sagacity  to  know  that,  if  the  work  which  he  issued  was 
really  well  done,  it  would  present  an  alternative  to 
thousands  who  would  at  all  events  furnish  themselves 
with  some  reliable  memoir  of  that  great  man,  and 
would,  in  fact,  therefore,  restrict  seriously  the  circulation 
of  the  other.  And  if  he  deemed  a  smaller  work  de- 
manded to  meet  the  popular  wants,  common  decency,  to 
say  nothing  of  any  higher  obligation,  demanded  that 
he  should  wait  a  reasonable  time  for  it  to  be  prepared 
by  those  immediately  interested,  and  only  when  as- 
sured that  the  religious  interests  of  the  public  were  to 
be  sacrificed  to  the  sale  of  a  large  and  expensive  book, 
could  he  be  justified  in  interfering,  and  even  then  only 
after  consultation  with  the  family. 

But  it  is  needless  to  argue  a  matter  which  was  decided 
by  an  instant  and  unanimous  verdict  of  the  public,  from 
which  there  can  be  no  appeal ;  and  I  shall  dwell  upon 
it  no  farther  than  is  absolutely  necessary  to  do  justice 
to  Mrs.  Judson.  Her  first  intelligence  of  the  project 
reached  her  in  a  letter  from  Dr.  BVight.  In  what  con- 
dition it  found  her  will  be  seen  from  the  following  to 
Abby  Ann  : — "  My  cough  has  returned,  and  keeps  me 
awake  the  greater  part  of  the  night.  I  have  also  had 
a  hemorrhage  of  the  lungs  which  has  weakened  me  ex- 
ceedingly. I  should  like  to  go  to  New  York  this  winter, 
but  am  afraid  I  shall  not  even  leave  my  bed."  To 
George  Boardman  she  writes  under  the  same  date  : — "  I 
am  quite  too  ill  to  write.  Let  me  hear  from  you.  Grod 
bless  you  and  Ella  both,  and  grant,  if  it  be  His  will,  that 


396  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

we  may  meet  again  in  this  world ;  if  not,  that  we  may- 
share  the  same  Paradise/' 

Under  these  circumstances  she  writes  to  Dr.  Bright, 
December  2d,  in  regard  to  a  suggestion  about  reducing 
temporarily  the  price  of  Dr.  Wayland's  work,  to  foil 
the  new  project : 

It  will,  of  course,  interfere  somewhat  with  the  sale  of  the 
memoir,  perhaps  alarmingly  for  a  few  months;  but  it  will  be  an 
ephemeral  thing,  while  the  other  will  be  perpetual.  "Way- 
land's  Memoir,"  people  know  to  be  genuine,  and  though  they 
may  cheat  themselves  with  something  cheaper  at  first,  they  will 
in  the  end  buy  the  book  which  they  know  can  be  relied  on. 
Now  you  and  Dr.  W.  have  more  wisdom,  and  the  publishers 
more  practical  knowledge  in  one  little  finger  than  I  have  in  my 
whole  head ;  yet  it  would  be  only  in  deference  to  your  opinion 
that  I  would  consent  to  a  reduction  in  the  price  the  book.  My 
own  judgment,  or  perhaps  my  womanly  instinct, tells  me  it  would 
be  a  bad  measure ;  that,  however  suited  to  a  temporary  purpose 
it  would  injure  the  interests  of  all  parties  concerned,  but  more 
especially  the  holder  of  the  copyright,  in  the  end.  The  book 
was  thought  to  be  fairly  worth  two  dollars,  and  every  candid 
person  acknowledges  that  the  price  is  not  high.  At  two  dol- 
lars, then,  let  it  stand.  I  think  it  more  dignified,  knowing  we 
are  in  the  right,  to  stand  firm,  and  let  the  lamb-clothed  robber 
see  what  he  can  eff"ect.  I  have  been  brought  to  stands  similar 
to  this  several  times  in  my  life,  and  by  going  straight  onward 
and  avoiding  what  I  believe  to  be  an  almost  fatal  course,  shap- 
ing my  policy  to  other  peoples  policy^  I  have  come  out  un- 
harmed. 

But  duty  to  her  orphaned  children — soon  about  to  be 
doubly  orphaned — called  on  her  to  make  a  vigorous  effort 
to  avert  the  blow,  by  appealing  directly  to  the  publisher. 
As  a  professed  Christian  and  of  the  same  denominational 


THE  MOTHER.  397 

faith,  he  could  not,  she  deemed,  refuse  to  listen  to  her 
request  that  he  should  abandon  his  unrighteous  purpose, 
and  persist  in  wronging  the  offspring,  under  pretense  of 
honoring  the  memory  of  the  dead.  From  her  couch  of 
sickness  and  pain  she  wrote  to  him  as  follows  : 

Hamilton,  N.  T.,  Dec.  3,  1853. 

Dear  Sir, — 

I  have  been  confined  to  my  room  a  helpless  invalid  for 
about  three  months,  or  I  should  have  taken  the  liberty  to 
■write  you  earlier.  I  make  an  attempt  to  use  my  pen  now, 
simply  to  request  you  to  abstain  from  publishing  the  book 
about  my  husband  which  you  have  advertised.  Why  should 
strangers  make  matters  of  traffic  of  the  virtues  of  a  holy  man, 
.while  those  who  loved  him  remain  to  cherish  the  sacred  legacy  ? 

I  entreat  you  not  to  do  me  and  the  orj)hans  of  my  sainted 
husband  this  great  wrong.  Be  assured  that  "  the  Father  of  the 
fatherless,  and  the  Judge  of  the  widow  "  will  never  bless  you  in 
such  a  course.  You  may  gather  up  a  few  handfuls  of  money, 
but  that  money  will  not  make  your  pillow  easy,  nor  your  heart 
light.  You  may  at  this  present  moment  bolster  up  your  pur- 
pose by  sophistical  arguments  and  well  planned  excuses  and 
evasions,  but  the  time  will  come  when  these  will  be  torn  away, 
and  you  will  see  this  thing  without  a  mist  before  your  eyes. 

Will  you  suppress  the  book  ?  May  the  Holy  Spirit  guide  you 
in  the  ways  of  righteousness,  and  many  hearts  will  be  glad  at 
the  announcement.  But  if,  blinded  to  the  right,  you  still  persist 
in  your  cruel  purpose,  why,  then,  may  God  have  mercy  on  you 
in  your  hour  of  darkness. 

Emily  C.  Judson. 

mr.  f.'s  reply. 

New  Yoek,  Dec.  8, 1853. 

Dear  Madam, — 

Your  letter  of  the  3d  instant  has  been  received,  in  which 
you  request  me  to  refrain  from  publishing  a  proposed  "  book 


398  LIFE   OF  MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

about  your  husband,"  and  denouncing  upon  me  the  judgments 
of  God  in  the  event  of  my  refusal.  I  am  happy  in  believing, 
however,  that  the  disposal  of  all  events  is  in  the  hands  of  One 
who  judges  not  after  the  manner  of  selfish  mortals,  and  who 
may  even  forgive^  through  the  Great  Redeemer,  the  sins  of  His 
erring  children,  when  truly  repented  of,  and  who  requires  us  to 
forgive  others  as  we  wish  to  be  forgiven — depriving  us  of  any 
vindictive  rights. 

Your  letter  attributes  to  me  a  contemplated  wrong  upon 
yourself  and  the  children  of  Dr.  Judson.  That  no  wrong  is 
involved  in  the  pubHcation  of  this  "book  about  your  husband'' 
is  my  sincere  and  undoubting  conviction.  The  public  life  of  a 
public  man  is  public  property ;  and  the  record  of  a  man's  life, 
or  of  a  nation's  annals,  is  the  privilege  of  any  historian  who 
chooses  to  embrace  it. 

Divest  yourself  for  a  moment  of  personal  interest  in  this 
matter,  or  suppose  an  analogous  case,  and  let  me  ask  you  to 
decide  it.  Suppose  that  you  were  impressed  that  you  could 
prepare  a  memoir  of  Daniel  Webster  that  would  benefit  a  class 
not  reached  by  the  great  "authorized"  edition  (as  Mr.  Ban- 
vard  has  already  done),  would  you  for  a  moment  think  of  con- 
sulting the  "  bereaved  family  ?"  And,  not  doing  so,  how  would 
you  regard  a  requirement  from  Mrs.  Webster  of  abandonment, 
coupled  with  an  accusation  of  wrong  ? 

And,  while  I  believe  that  in  this  case  there  is  no  infringe- 
ment of  rights,  there  does  appear  a  positive  duty.  The  aban- 
donment even  of  an  important  publication,  as  of  the  ministerial 
or  missionary  work,  may  be  inadmissible  by  the  conscientious 
Christian.  It  is  not  a  severe  faith  that  sees  more  good  to  the 
world  in  the  history  of  Judson  than  what  he  actually  accom- 
plished in  his  lifetime ;  and  when  no  provision  is  made  or, 
proposed  for  the  thousands  of  little  country  Sabbath  schools 
and  poor  families,  I  believe  this  work  to  be  called  for  by  the 
Great  Taskmaster.  The  highest  of  all  obligations,  therefore, 
forbids  its  relinquishment. 


THE   MOTHER.  .  399 

My  estimate  of  the  demand  is  corroborated  by  many  who 
canvassed  for  Dr.  Wayland's  work,  and  now  engage  in  this, 
going  over  again  the  same  field.  Thus  each  work  will  find  the 
place  for  which  it  is  adapted,  giving  to  the  former  the  advan- 
tage of  earlier  publication. 

A  principle  of  courtesy  would  prevent  me  forestalling  the 
market,  by  anticipating  other  arrangements,  or  by  taking 
advantage  of  a  vitiated  copyright  (by  copyrighting  in  Eng- 
land). I  gladly  leave  all  the  great  advantages  your  work  pos- 
sesses, pursuing  a  course  sanctioned  by  long  usage. 

My  views  of  the  moral  question  are  sustained  by  some  of  the 
wisest  and  best  of  Christians — men  who  never  wrote  a  line 
they  ever  afterwards  wished  suppressed.  Some  who  claim  to 
be  your  personal  friends  have  been  my  advisers  in  this.  Doc- 
tors of  Divinity,  who  ought  to  understand  the  moral  principles 
of  this  undertaking,  have  given  me  their  written  approval,  and 
offered  every  assistance  iix  their  power.  And  the  principal 
author  of  the  work  you  would  hardly  visit  with  denunciation. 
I  am  also  joined  by  the  different  publishers  of  our  denomina- 
tion, all  of  whom,  I  think,  will  take  an  interest  in  the  circula- 
tion of  this  "book  about  your  husband."  Indeed,  not  a  note 
of  disapprobation  has  reached  me,  except  from  those  personally 
interested  or  an  immediate  friend. 

The  consideration  of  charity  a  family  so  well  provided  for 
pecuniarily,  will  not  urge.  The  engagements  I  have  made  and 
expenses  incurred  form  another  reason  against  a  compliance  with 
your  request,  which  compliance  would  probably  only  result  in 
a  change  of  publisher.  Still  I  will  comply  and  give  up  my 
own  part  upon  condition  that  you  will  yourself  prepare  a  work 
of  the  same  plan  and  scope,  and  allow  it  to  be  published  by 
some  Baptist  publishing  house,  saving  me  from  loss  in  the  out 
lay  already  made. 

As  I  have  a  wife  who  may  be  a  widow,  and  children  who 
may  become  orphans,  I  hope  to  be  sufiiciently  sensitive  to  the 
rights  of  such,  and,  when  destitute,  disposed  to  sucCor.     And  I 


400  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

pray  you,  if  you  must  think  me  wrong,  to  believe  me  mis- 
takenly so,  and  capable  of  better  than  sordid  motives. 
Very  respectfully  yours. 

To  Mrs.  Emily  C.  Judson,  Hamilton,  N.  T. 

MRS.   JUDSOn's    reply. 

Hamilton,  December  14,  1863.  " 

Sir,— 

If  you  will  do  me  the  favor  to  look  again  at  my  note  of 
the  3d  instant,  you  will  see  that  it  contains  no  denunciations. 
Unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  I  commended  you  to  the  mercy ^ 
not  the  "judgments"  of  God. 

It  will  be  a  heart-sickening  task  to  wade  through  your  long 
letter,  to  note  the  different  points  in  your  sad  system  of  moral- 
ity, but  still  I  suppose  I  ought  to  do  it. 

1.  You  say — "  The  public  life  of  a  public  man  is  public  prop- 
erty." I  am  not  prepared  to  dispute  this  maxim,  but  simply  say 
that  it  is  entirely  irrelevant  to  the  case  in  question.  My  hus- 
band was  not,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  a  "  public  man" — 
he  was  not  a  statesman,  a  diplomatist,  a  military  or  civil  com- 
mander, or  any  thing  of  the  sort.  He  took  his  commission 
from  no  human  government,  and  he  labored  mostly  alone,  under 
the  eye  of  his  Master.  Therefore,  unless  your  book  is  false  to 
the  character  of  the  man,  it  will  be  far  more  a  record  of  private 
than  of  public  life.  Indeed,  unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken,  your 
book,  so  far  from  confining  itself  to  public  acts,  peers  into  the 
most  sacred  privacies,  going  even  to  his  closet,  and  picturing 
him  on  his  knees  before  God.  If  you  really  can  not  discern 
the  broad  difference  between  a  life  like  his  and  the  official  posi- 
tion of  a  statesman  like  Daniel  Webster,  I  could  wish  that  you 
had  at  least  left  the  public  and  myself  to  settle  the  question  of 
property. 

Your  "  analogous  case"  is  a  very  extreme  one ;  but  still,  by 
a  supposition  or  two,  we  may  make  it  do.  If  Mr.  Banvard  had 
had  the  slightest  reason  to  infer,  from  Mrs.  Webster's  previous 
habits,  that  she  was  at  all  likely  to  have  an  abridgment  of  her 


THE   MOTHER.  401 

husband's  life  suited  to  Sunday  scliools  in  the  course  of  prepar- 
ation, he  was  bound,  both  as  a  gentleman  and  a  Christian,  to 
consult  her  wishes  before  entering  on  his  own  work.  If  Mrs. 
Webster  owned  the  copyright  of  her  husband's  life,  and  were 
to  write  me  that  a  book  I  was  publishing  for  the  good  of  Sun- 
day schools  was  interfering  with  her  interests,  and  actually  doing 
her  a  positive  injury,  I  would  as  soon  (I  regret  to  write  it,  but 
you  asked  me) — I  would  as  soon  steal  her  purse,  hoping  to  ben- 
efit Sunday  schools  by  the  contents,  as  to  go  on  with  the  work. 

2.  I  dread  to  reply  to  this  paragraph,  because  there  are  sen- 
timents in  it  positively  shocking.  Your  duty,  while  I  am  out 
of  my  grave,  to  look  after  the  memory  of  him  whose  inmost 
thoughts  and  feelings  I  have  shared,  and  over  whom  I  have 
watched  through  so  many  weary  hours  of  pain,  and  suffering, 
and  sorrow  ?  Yours — a  stranger's  duty  ?  Where  is  his  wife  1 
Where  is  his  own  beloved  sister,  the  playmate  of  his  childhood, 
and  correspondent  of  his  later  years  ?  Where  are  those  noble- 
hearted  men  who  have  cared  for  and  watched  over  his  helpless, 
desolate  ones,  as  fathers  and  brothers  watch  ?  Your  duty ! 
Alas  !  alas !  And  do  you  really  think  "  The  Great  Taskmaster" 
requires  of  you  to  seize  on  the  orphans'  birthright,  because  not 
secured  by  human  law,  and,  putting  the  avails  in  your  own 
coffers,  stand  before  the  world  as  a  man  who  has  acquitted  him- 
self of  a  "  positive  duty  f  No,  no ;  be  assured  the  day  will 
come  when  you  will  find  this  act  was  called  for  by  a  very  dif- 
ferent taskmaster.  But  you  do  not  stop  here.  You  go  further, 
and  even  profess  to  be  too  conscientious  to  abandon  this  scheme, 
lest  the  public,  forsooth,  should  lose  some  prospective  good. 
Why,  do  you  not  know,  that  just  so  far  as  you  prevent  the  sale 
of  Dr.  Wayland's  book,  by  substituting  an  inferior  one,  you  are 
doing  a  positive  harm  ?  Some  men  "  do  evil  that  good  may 
come,"  and  are  justly  condemned  for  it ;  but  this  looks  to  me 
very  much  like  doing  evil  that  good  may  be  prevented. 

How  came  you  to  know  that  no  provision  was  being  made 
for  Sunday  schools  and  poor  families  ?     Did  you  ask  any  one 


402  LIFE    OF   MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

likely  to  know — the  family  of  Dr.  Judson,  his  biographer,  the 
executive  officers  of  the  Missionary  Union  ?  or  were  you  afraid 
to  ask,  lest  you  should  learn  certain  facts  which  would  spoil 
your  speculation  ?  Those  who  looked  after  the  memoir  for  the 
churches,  were  not  likely  to  forget  the  Sunday  schools. 

3.  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  nothing  but  "  courtesy"  kept  you 
from  seizing  on  my  copyright,  which  you  happen  to  fancy  is  not 
good  ?  Verily,  if  this  be  true,  I  should  be  sorry  to  be  your 
neighbor  in  Patagonia,  where  there  is  no  law  for  the  protection 
of  life  and  property,  and  where,  courtesy  not  being  fashionable, 
many  proceedings  are  "  sanctioned  by  long  usage,"  that  would 
be,  to  say  the  least,  inconvenient  to  the  weaker  party. 

4.  You  say  your  views  are  sustained  by  Christians,  wise  and 
good.  I  know  nothing  of  that  matter  (except  by  the  piles  of 
correspondence  on  my  table,  which  would  astonish  you),  but  I 
do  know  that  they  are  not  sustained  by  Christ,  and  so  will  not 
stand  in  the  great  day.  You  also  say  that  some  of  your  advisers 
claim  to  be  my  friends.  Very  likely.  I  never  doubted  that  I 
had  my  share  of  false  friends — men  who  fawn  and  flatter,  while, 
in  order  to  serve  their  own  purposes,  or  even  to  gratify  some 
petty  spite,  they  would  not  hesitate  to  crush  me  as  a  fly ;  but 
the  servant  is  not  above  his  Master — so  was  it  with  Him  who 
died  by  a  traitor's  connivance — so  is  it  with  Him  still. 

Your  principal  author  may  be,  for  aught  I  know,  a  man  who 
stands  up  in  the  sacred  desk,  and  is  zealous  against  vice — both 
from  that  position  and  from  the  press — but  he  is  himself  guilty 
of  an  act  that  no  high-minded  worldling  would  stain  his  honor 
with.  I  would  not  denounce  him  any  more  than  I  have  de- 
nounced you,  but  I  would  denounce  his  sin  precisely  as  I  have 
yours.  You  give  me  startling  ideas  of  the  system  of  morality 
adopted  by  Baptist  publishers,  and  then  ask,  or  rather  demand 
of  me,  to  employ  them !  No,  no ;  there  are  honorable  men 
among  Baptist  publishers  who  would  scorn  this  thing.  If  all 
the  D.D.'s  that  human  colleges  have  ever  made  were  your  ad- 
visers, and  all  the  Baptist  publishers  in  America  your  accom- 


THE   MOTHER.  403 

plices,  it  would  not  change  tlie  color  of  this  deed  one  whit — it 
is  as  black  as  midnight,  and  all  the  honorable  names  on  earth 
can  not  whiten  it. 

5.  Charity  !  No,  sir,  I  do  not  come  to  you  for  charity.  I 
ask  only  justice  at  your  hands ;  I  ask  you  to  let  alone  what 
belongs  to  me  and  to  my  children.  And  whether,  through  the 
mercy  of  God,  I  have  a  decent  provision,  or  am  left  to  starve 
in  a  gutter,  it  need  concern  you  in  no  way  whatever. 

6.  I  am  sorry  you  have  incurred  expenses  so  recklessly ;  but 
business  men  do  make  mistakes,  and  recover  (I  rather  think) 
more  readily  by  an  honorable  course  than  by  a  dishonorable  one. 
The  conclusion  of  your  defense  is  but  the  rumseller's  excuse — 
"  If  I  do  not  make  this  man  drunk,  somebody  else  will." 

Having  gone  through  with  these  somewhat  singular  argu- 
ments, you  come  to  me  with  your  "  conditions."  I  can  not, 
without  compromising  my  self-respect,  go  over  these  in  detail, 
and  so  would  simply  say  that  I  acknowledge  no  dictator  in  my 
own  affairs,  and  that  I  beg  leave  to  decline  all  interference  with 
yours.  If  you  conclude  to  desist  from  the  wrong  you  are  doing, 
well  and  good ;  if  not,  the  Lord  judge  between  us. 

In  conclusion,  you  ask  me  to  think  you  "  capable  of  better 
than  sordid  motives."  What  saith  the  Scriptures  ?  "  By  their 
fruits,"  etc.  You  have  furnished  me  with  a  cluster  of  as  sharp 
thorns  as  were  ever  planted  in  a  sick  woman's  pillow,  and  it  is 
all  the  "fruit"  of  yours  that  I  have  ever  seen.  I  can  not 
imagine  these  to  be  the  refreshing  grapes  so  grateful  to  a  female 
lip.  I  know  too  well  what  they  are.  Still  they  may  have  been 
hung  upon  your  vine  by  some  foreign  hand — those  blind  leaders 
of  the  blind,  who  have  advised  you  to  commit  a  wrong.  It  is 
not  mine  to  judge  you,  and  I  will  not.  I  leave  it  all  to  Him 
who  knows  the  hearts  of  men  completely. 

The  writing  of  this  letter  has  been  a  sorrowful  task  to  me. 
It  has  made  my  heart  ache.  If  any  thing  in  it  seems  harsh,  it 
is  the  harshness  of  truth,  not  of  ill-will.  If  I  had  been  alone 
in  the  world,  I  should  probably  have  borne  this  injury  in  silence ; 


404  LIFE   OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.   JUDSON. 

but  I  am  the  guardian  of  six  orphan  children,  whose  rights  it  is 
my  duty  to  try  to  protect.  I  have  now  done  for  them  what  I 
could,  and  commit  them  to  their  Father's  care. 

If  you  persist  in  your  work,  there  will  be  no  further  occasion 
for  writing  between  us. 

May  the  Lord  forgive  you,  and  give  you  a  better  mind. 

Emily  C.  Judson. 

Her  efforts  to  arrest  the  proceeding  were  inefTectual. 
The  proposed  work  was  published  under  the  title  of 
"  Burmah's  Great  Missionary/'  but  was  soon  after  con- 
signed by  the  moral  sense  of  the  public,  to  oblivion. 
To  give  the  matter  additional  notoriety,  the  publisher, 
with  a  sort  of  judicial  infatuation,  brought  it  afresh 
before  the  public  by  instituting  a  libel  suit  against  Mr.  S. 
B.  Norton,  for  an  expression  contained  in  a  letter  from 
Kev.  Dr.  Wayland,  published  in  the  Litei^ary  Gazette, 
of  which  he  was  proprietor.  This  suit  occasioned  the 
reading  in  court  of  the  correspondence  above  given,  which 
being  copied  into  the  papers,  sent  over  the  country 
a  fresh  thrill  of  indignation  at  the  course  which,  under 
Christian  pretenses,  could  strike  at  the  orphans'  inheri- 
tance through  the  grave  of  the  father,  and  the  agonies 
of  the  dying  widow.  The  suit  was  brought  in  February 
of  1854,  but  the  trial  which,  from  the  character  and  the 
parties  involved  in  it,  awakened  great  interest,  and  in 
which  the  defendant  was  triumphantly  acquitted,  did 
not  occur  until  a  year  later,  when  Mrs.  Judson's  ear  was 
deaf  to  the  tumults  of  earth,  and  her  aching  heart  had 
found  repose  in  the  grave. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

E  E  S  T. 

"There  are  mansions  exempted  from  sin  and  from  woe, 
But  they  stand  in  a  region  by  mortals  untrod  ; 
There  are  rivers  of  joy,  but  they  roll  not  below  ; 
There  is  rest,  but  'tis  found  in  the  bosom  of  God." 

True  to  her  nature,  Mrs.  Judson  labored  on  to  the 
last.  She  had  contemplated  an  abridged  memoir  of  her 
husband,  chiefly  for  Sabbath  schools  and  for  the  young  ; 
and  such  a  work,  had  she  been  able  to  complete  it,  she 
could  scarcely  have  failed  to  make  deeply  interesting. 
Illness  compelled  her  to  change  her  plan,  and  about  the 
1st  of  January,  1854,  with  the  concurrence  and  advice 
of  Drs.  Wayland  and  Bright,  she  commenced  an  abridg- 
ment, chiefly  by  the  scissors,  of  Dr.  Wayland's  book,  ex- 
scinding its  larger  documents  and  incidental  discussions. 
Even  this,  however,  she  speedily  relinquished,  and,  Jan- 
uary 31,  she  writes  to  Dr.  Bright :  "  I  have  not  written 
a  word  of  the  memoir,  and  am  afraid  I  never  shall.  I 
am  very  sick  now,  and  rapidly  failing.  The  doctor  says 
there  is  but  the  slenderest  hope  possible  of  my  recovery, 
though  I  suppose  I  may  live  a  couple  of  months  or  so. 
I  may  possibly  get  out  again,  but  not  probably.  Be  it 
as  God  wills  ;  I  would  not  interfere  if  I  could."     The 


406  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

proposed  abridgment  was,  at  her  request,  committed  to 
the  accomplished  pen  of  Mrs.  H.  C.  Conant,  then  of 
Kochester,  who,  in  her  ''  Earnest  Man,"  has  produced  a 
book  combining  the  merits  of  an  abridgment  with  the 
results  of  independent  investigation,  and  given  a  most 
beautiful  delineation  of  the  life  and  character  of  the 
Christian  hero,  which  will  impart  fresh  light  even  to  him 
who  has  read  the  more  elaborate  work  of  Dr.  Wayland. 

Of  the  month  of  February  Mrs.  Judson's  letters 
furnish  no  records — an  ominous  hiatus  indicating  that 
she  was  writhing  in  the  gradually  tightening  grasp  of 
the  Destroyer.  For  her  to  live  was  to  write  :  her  pen 
had  been  so  long  the  ready  minister  to  her  thoughts  that 
we  need  no  other  evidence  than  its  silence  of  the  power- 
lessness  of  the  hand  that  had  wielded  it.  When  she 
next  breaks  the  silence  it  is  through  the  ministry  of 
another :  she  was  prohibited  from  writing  even  the 
briefest  note. 

The  letters  of  her  brother  Wallace,  written  at  her  dic- 
tation, through  the  months  of  March  and  April,  chiefly 
to  Dr.  Bright,  show  her  unceasing  care  for  her  children, 
and  how  active  was  her  mind  in  other  necessary  matters. 
With  May  20  they  close,  and  her  brother  writes  :  "  I 
fear  that  '  the  last  of  earth'  is  speedily  approaching  for 
my  sister.  For  the  past  few  days  her  weakness  has 
materially  increased,  and  she  is  likely  to  drop  away  with 
but  a  brief  warning."  She  was  now  too  close  on  the  bord- 
ers of  the  dark  valley  to  give  any  more  public  tokens  of 
interest  in  aught  beneath  the  sun.  Death,  that  had  long 
been  making  his  gradual  and  intermittent  approaches, 
now  laid  upon  her  an  iron  grasp  that  would  no  longer  be 
cheated  of  its  prey.  His  coming  was  neither  unexpected 
nor  unwelcome.     She  had  long  been  familiar  with  his 


REST.  407 

tokens,  and  she  panted  for  the  hour  of  release.  Her 
form  was  wasted  to  a  skeleton ;  fever  was  drinking 
up  the  springs  of  life ;  and  her  ulcerated  lungs  made 
the  effort  to  speak  a  torture.  But  she  lingered  till 
June,  her  own  favorite  season,  and  on  the  first  of 
that  delightful  month — the  month  of  the  bursting 
gladness  of  nature — on  the  day  preceding  the  anni- 
versary of  her  marriage,  she  passed  into  the  fadeless 
bloom  of  the  Heavenly  Paradise,  and  in  her  robe 
of  spotless  white  joined  the  train  of  the  Heavenly 
Bridegroom. 

Her  death  was  in  keeping  with  her  life.  Patience, 
resignation,  cheerfulness,  a  placid  serenity  of  spirit  and 
trust  in  her  Saviour,  marked  her  entire  illness.  From 
her  sister  Catharine's  reminiscences — her  affectionate 
nurse  during  her  illness — I  condense  a  few  particulars 
of  her  sojourn  on  the  borders  of  the  spirit  land.  The 
first  formal  announcement  that  she  could  not  live  long, 
occasioned  something  of  a  struggle,  not  so  much  on  her 
own  account  as  that  of  her  aged  parents,  and  the  orphans 
dependent  on  her  care.  "  There  is  one  who  will  be  incon- 
solable," she  said,  referring  to  her  little  Emmy.  But  from 
this  she  soon  recovered,  and  assured  of  her  aiDproachingend, 
she  set  about  her  aiTangements  with  the  calmness  of  one 
going  to  visit  a  friend.  For  herself,  nothing  marred  the 
serene  composure  with  which  she  looked  forward  to  her 
rest  in  the  bosom  of  her  Saviour.  Best  was  that  for  which 
she  panted.  "It  is  not,"  she  said,  "the  pearly  gates  and 
golden  streets  of  heaven  that  attract  me  ;  it  is  its  perfect 
rest  in  the  presence  of  my  Saviour.  It  will  be  so  sweet 
after  a  life  of  care  and  toil  like  mine — though  a  very 
pleasant  one  it  has  been,  and  I  am  only  weary  of  the 
care  and  toil  because  I  have  not  strength  to  endure  them. 


■  408  LIFE  OF  MRS.   EMILY  C.  JUDSON. 

This  lack  of  strength  is  dreadful.  I  have  been  wasted 
to  a  mere  skeleton,  and  suffered  the  most  excruciating 
pain,  but  it  was  nothing  in  comparison  with  my  present 
sufferings."  To  her  sister's  expression  of  a  wish  to  re- 
lieve her  sufferings,  she  replied  :  "  No,  I  have  not  one 
pain  to  spare.  I  feel  sure  that  God  will  never  send  a 
pain  that  I  do  not  really  need  to  fit  me  for  the  rest  I 
hope  to  enjoy  in  heaven."  "Not  brilliant,  but  very 
peaceful,"  she  said,  when  asked  regarding  the  prospect 
before  her.  "It  is  bright  either  way,"  she  said  with 
sparkling  eye  to  a  friend  who  expressed  the  hope  that 
God  might  yet  restore  her. 

Early  in  her  illness  she  was  haunted  occasionally  by 
thoughts  of  being  laid  in  the  cold,  dark  grave,  away  from 
her  friends.  But  these  feelings  she  gradually  surmounted, 
and  succeeded  in  looking  to  the  grave  but  as  the  "  ward- 
robe locked"  which  would  contain  the  "  cast  off  dress" 
of  the  beatified  spirit.  With  this  thought  she  consoled 
her  mother.  "  Do  you  not  believe,"  she  said  to  her, 
"  that  when  I  get  home  to  heaven,  I  shall  be  permitted 
to  look  down  upon  you  here  with  the  same  tender  care 
and  solicitude  with  which  you  look  upon  me  now.? 
Never  think  of  me  in  the  cold  grave ;  for  really  you  know 
I  shall  not  be  there ;  but  look  upward,  and  think  of  that 
happy  meeting  when  all  our  cares  and  sorrows  will  be 
forgotten,  and  God  will  wipe  all  tears  from  our  eyes." 

Her  sickness  illustrated  beautifully  the  grace  of  pa- 
tience. "  Kate,"  said  she,  "  tell  me  honestly  if  I  am 
patient."  On  being  assured  that  she  was,  she  replied : 
"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  think  me  patient.  For  con- 
sumptive people  are  so  often  fretful  and  complaining 
that  I  have  greatly  feared  that  I  should  get  so  too,  and 
it  would  be  sad  and  indeed  wicked,  I  am  so  nicely  cared 


REST.  409 

for."  "  You  do  not  know/'  she  continued,  "  how  glad  I 
am  that  I  am  at  home.  Formerly  when  I  visited  Laurel 
Hill  and  other  beautiful  burial  places,  I  thought  it  would 
be  pleasant  to  lie  amidst  such  beauties.  But  I  have  lost 
all  that  feeling  now.  0,  it  is  sweet  to  die  at  home  !  I 
could  not  bear  the  thought  of  being  buried  elsewhere 
than  here  where  you  all  will  probably  rest  by  and  by  at 
my  side."  She  directed  a  lot  to  be  purchased  and  enclosed, 
and  a  plain  marble  stone  to  be  procured  for  her  husband 
and  little  Charlie  ;  and  wished  the  same  simplicity  to 
mark  the  selection  of  her  own  tombstone. 

She  evinced  the  most  affectionate  concern  in  the  com- 
fort of  all  about  her,  and  would  not  allow  her  sister  to 
tax  herself  with  watching  with  her  during  the  night. 
Slie,  however,  insisted  on  being  dressed  each  morning 
and  carried  down  stairs  that  she  might  be  with  the  fam- 
ily as  much  as  possible,  though  she  said  that  it  seemed 
to  her  that  each  day  must  be  the  last.  When  veiy  near 
her  end,  after  enduring  dreadful  agonies  from  suffoca- 
tion, she  said,  "0  Kate,  how  I  long  to  be  at  home — to 
be  at  rest  !  I  am  so  weak  all  the  time  that  I  can  scarcely 
think.  I  love  you  all  as  dearly  as  ever,  and  try  to  be 
interested  in  whatever  you  are  doing.  But  in  spite  of 
myself  I  have  felt  for  two  or  three  days  that  I  cared 
very  little  for  you ;  and  you  know,  Kitty,  when  it  comes 
to  that,  /  must  he  very  far  along." 

She  had  from  the  first  desired  to  die  in  June.  It  was 
the  month  of  flowers,  and  flowers  were  always  her  espe- 
cial delight.  Her  sister  Lavinia  had  died  in  that  month  ; 
she  had  been  married  in  it.  About  a  month  before  her 
death  she  said  to  her  sister  very  confidently,  "I  shall  die 
in  June."  On  the  morning  of  the  first  of  June  she  was 
roused  by  her  sister  with  the  question,  "  Emily,  do  you 

18 


410  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

know  that  it  is  June  ?"  "  Yes,"  slie  replied,  "  my  month 
to  die."  She  was  dressed  and  carried  down  stairs  as 
usual ;  but  in  the  afternoon  one  of  her  terrible  attacks 
of  suffocation  came  on,  occasioned  by  the  utter  wasting 
of  her  lungs.  She  lingered  until  ten  in  the  evening  in 
great  agony  ;  the  pain  then  subsided,  and  after  a  few 
minutes,  sweetly  and  tranquilly,  without  a  groan  or  the 
movement  of  a  niuscle,  she  breathed  out  her  life  on  the 
bosom  of  her  sister. 

She  had  requested  that  her  funeral  sermon  might  be 
preached  by  Kev.  Dr.  Wayland.  In  the  event  of  his  ab- 
sence, by  Kev.  Dr.  Eaton,  president  and  theological  pro- 
fessor in  Madison  University.  Dr.  Wayland  being  un- 
able to  be  present.  Dr.  Eaton  preached  before  a  crowded 
assembly,  from  1  Cor.  xv.  6  :  "  But  some  are  fallen 
asleep." 

Her  little  Emmy  she  had  committed  (her  sister  hav- 
ing charge  of  their  aged  and  infirm  parents)  to  the 
motherly  care  of  her  bosom  friend,  Miss  Anna  Maria 
Anable  ;  Edward  had  found  a  permanent  home  in  the 
family  of  Kev.  Professor  Dodge,  of  Madison  University. 
For  the  other  children  she  had  secured  comfortable  tempo- 
rary homes.  She  had  appointed  Kev.  Drs.  Edward  Bright 
and  James  N.  G-ranger  executors  of  the  estate  and  guardi- 
ans of  the  children.  In  Dr.  Bright  she  had  founxi,  ever 
since  her  return  from  India,  a  most  faithful  friend,  a 
judicious  counselor,  and  an  indefatigable  co-worker  in 
all  her  plans  and  labors. 

The  provisions  of  her  will  -are  worthy  of  special  men- 
tion. She  left  a  life  annuity  sufficient  to  insure  a  comfort- 
able support  to  her  aged  parents.  She  left  to  the  faithful 
Malayan  woman  Nancy,  who  had  accompanied  her  from 
India,  a  sum  considerably  more  than  sufficient  to  defray 


BEST.  411 

the  expenses  of  her  voyage  back  to  the  East.  In  provid- 
ing for  her  children,  she  made  no  discrimination  in  favor 
of  her  own  daughter  Emily,  but  placed  her  on  precisely 
the  same  footing  with  Dr.  Judson's  other  children.  All 
the  children  were  to  receive, a  liberal  allowance  until  their 
education,  both  literary  and  professional,  should  be  fully 
completed — no  legitimate  expense  being  spared  for  this 
purpose.  If  anything  should  remain  after  this  was 
accomplished,  it  was  to  go  to  the  treasury  of  the  Mis- 
sionary Union. 

The  reader  may  be  grate^ful  for  one  word  respecting 
the  present  state  of  the  family  that  Mrs.  Judson  had  thus 
watched  over.  Abby  Ann,  having  completed  her  educa- 
tion, is  now  teaching  in  the  seminary  of  Mr.  A.  M.  Gram- 
mell,  of  Warren,  K.  I.  Adoniram  and  Elnathan  were 
graduated  from  Brown  University  (the  educational  home 
of  their  father)  in  1859.  The  former  is  now  pursuing 
the  study  of  medicine  ;  the  latter  studying  theology,  pre- 
paratory to  the  work  of  the  Christian  ministry.  Henry 
and  Edward  enter  college  the  present  autumn. 


In  the  cemetery  of  Hamilton  stand,  side  by  side,  two 
neat  and  simple  head-stones ;  the  one  placed  by  Mrs. 
Judson's  order,  a  little  before  her  death  and  inscribed, 


"TO    MY    HUSBAND 


ANGEL  CHARLIE." 


The  other  placed  by  parental,  and  brotherly,  and  sisterly 
affection,  and  inscribed. 


"DEAR    EMILY.' 


412  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

A  few  feet  distant  are  the  graves  of  both  her  parents,  who, 
since  her  death,  have  gone  to  add  two  more  links  to  the 
domestic  chain,  broken  on  earth,  to  be  reunited  in 
heaven.  There  the  tear  of  affection  is  daily  shed,  and 
the  flowers  which  Emily  loved  in  life  btessom  above  her 
grave.  The  footsteps  of  many  a  pilgrim,  to  whom  genius 
and  virtue  enshrined  in  lovely  womanhood  are  sacred, 
linger  reverently  about  the  spot.  "  Dear  Emily :" — that 
is  a  heart  record.  Bright  as  was  her  genius,  her  virtues 
were  still  brighter.  The  lustre  of  her  intellect  was  out- 
shone by  the  purity  of  her  heart.  The  laurel  wreath  of 
literary  fame  would  have  faded,  but  entwined  with  the 
chaplet  that  crowns  a  beautiful  and  heroic  life,  both 
shall  bloom  together  in  undying  fragrance. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE      KETKOSPECT. 

*'  Once  more  ye  laurels,  and  again  once  more 
Ye  myrtles  brown,  with  ivy  never  sere, 
I  come  to  pluck  your  berries  wild  and  crude, 
And  with  forced  fingers  rude. 
Shatter  your  leaves  before  the  mellowing  year." 

"  The  autumn  wind  rushing 

Wafts  the  leaves  that  are  serest; 
But  our  flower  was  in  flushing 
When  blighting  was  nearest." 

We  have  followed  Mrs.  Judson  to  the  close  of  her 
short,  but  eventful  career  ;  it  remains  that  we  cast  back 
our  eye  for  a  moment,  and  seek  to  gather  up  its  impres- 
sions, and  bring  the  living  woman  before  us  in  a  brief 
estimate"  of  her  personal  and  literary  character.  I  am 
not  unaware  of  the  great  delicacy  and  difficulty  of  the 
task.  To  fix  her  Protean  features — to  catch  their  fleet- 
ing and  changeful  hues — to  develop  the  elements  of  a 
nature  so  singularly  gifted  and  so  admirably  balanced, 
at  once  so  strong  and  so  tender,  so  firm  and  so  elastic, 
so  heroic  and  so  womanly,  I  feel  to  be  beyond  the  ca- 
pacities of  my  unaccustomed  pen.  I  shall  merely  at- 
tempt to  sketch  a  few  lines  of  the  picture,  leaving  the 
filling  up  and  coloring  to  the  reader's  imagination. 


414  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

Let  US  glance  first  at  what  meets  the  physical  eye. 
In  person,  Mrs.  Judson  was  about  the  middle  height, 
but  giving  the  impression  of  great  delicacy  of  structure, 
and  a  highly  nervous  organization.  Her  general  appear- 
ance was  graceful  and  pleasing,  and  especially  so  as  the 
timid  shyness  of  her  earlier  manner  gave  way,  in  the 
larger  intercourse  of  later  life,  to  a  quiet  self-possession 
and  dignity.  Her  residence  abroad,  while  it  gave  eleva- 
tion and  maturity  to  her  character,  wrought  a  corre- 
sponding imjDrovement  in  her  outward  bearing.  -Gentle, 
genial,  and  dignified,  she  impressed  one  at  once  as  full  of 
soul  and  sensibility.  Her  face,  in  repose,  would  scarcely 
be  called  handsome,  but  easily  lighted  up  into  an  ex- 
pression fascinating,  if  not  beautiful.  The  likeness  which 
accompanies  the  present  volume  does  admirable  jus- 
tice to  her  countenance,  especially  in  her  more  thought- 
ful moods.  The  philosophic  depth,  the  calm  decision 
and  self-reliance,  the  playfulness  lurking  in  the  corners 
of  the  mouth  and  just  ready  to  flash  out  from  the  eye, 
can  not  fail  to  strike  one  who  looks  at  it  a  second  time, 
while  they  but  tiiily  represent  the  living  personage.  In 
reality,  so  much  of  the  interest  of  her  countenance  de- 
pended on  its  play  of  expression,  that  any  picture  could 
do  it  but  inadequate  justice.  The  dramatic  vivacity  of 
her  intellect  shadowed  itself  on  her  face.  The  philo- 
sophical, the  poetic,  the  practical,  the  girlishly  sportive 
and  half  mischievous  elements  portrayed  themselves  in 
rapid  alternation  on  her  flexible  features.  Her  broad, 
deep,  and  finely-shaped  forehead,  indicated  a  large  de- 
velopment both  of  the  logical  and  ideal  elements.  Her 
dark  eye,  somewhat  too  small  and  not  sufficiently  liquid 
for  beauty,  yet  glowed  with  spirit  and  intelligence,  now 
sparkling  with  mirth  and  humor,  and  now,  in  her  more 


THE  KETROSPECT.  415 

thoughtful  moments,  seeming  to  penetrate  the  depths  of 
the  subject  she  was  considering.  Her  nose,  perhaps  a 
little  sharp,  was  prominent  and  finely  outlined  ;  her 
mouth  rather  large,  but  well-formed  ;  while  her  thin  and 
delicate,  but  slightly  compressed  lips,  indicated  at  once 
strength  and  sensibility.  The  entire  cast  of  her  features 
betokened  clearly  that  union  of  intelligence,  refinement, 
and  energetic  will  which  marked  the  living  character. 

In  proceeding  to  notice  her  intellectual  and  moral 
traits,  we  may  mention  as  among  the  most  obvious,  the 
union  of  poetic  ideality  with  downright  common  sense 
and  practical  efficiency.  While  picking  wool  in  the  fac- 
tory, at  the  age  of  eleven,  she  was  framing  visions  of 
distant  climes,  and  dreaming  dreams  of  ideal  happiness 
and  splendor.  This  dreaming  faculty  followed  her 
through  life,  and  constituted  a  part  of  her  heritage  as  a 
child  of  genius.  It  enabled  her  to  tinge  every  object 
with  the  hues  of  romance,  and  to  clothe  external  nature 
with  a  beauty  born  of  her  own  spirit.  Yet  her  dreams 
never  distracted  her  mind,  never  dulled  the  edge  of  her 
intellectual  perceptions,  nor  disqualified  her  for  the  work 
actually  in  hand.  Her  powers  of  fancy  and  imagination 
were  balanced  by  a  strong  practical  sense  which  met  the 
exigencies  of  every  position.  Her  "  life"  was  thus  emi- 
nently "  twofold."  While  she  reveled  in  poetic  dreams 
and  fancies — while  she  wandered  at  will  in  the  enchanted 
realm  which  the  wand  of  genius  is  so  potent  to  create, 
she  was  never  for  a  moment  unfitted  for  the  duties  of 
the  every-day  world  in  which  she  moved.  She  was  none 
of  those  helpless  children  of  genius  who  own  "  princi- 
palities in  Utopia,"  but  are  condemned  to  starve  on  our 
vulgar  planet ;  who  build  magnificent  castles  in  the  air, 


416  LIFE    OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

but  are  incapable  of  gaining  a  firm  foothold  and  a  com- 
fortable abiding  place  on  terra  fir  ma. 

This  practical  efficiency  showed  itself  in  her  first  vig- 
orous wrestling  with  the  destiny  which  was  drifting  her 
toward  a  life  of  mere  material  toil.  "  I  went  away/'  she 
says,  when  her  mother  put  to  her  the  perplexing  ques- 
tion what  she  would  do,  "  to  think."  And  she  did  think, 
and  thought  to  purpose.  At  an  age  when  most  children 
would  have  thoughtlessly  yielded  to  the  maternal  wishes, 
or  as  thoughtlessly  rebelled,  she  quietly  reasoned  out  the 
matter,  formed  her  plan,  and  executed  it  with  a  resolu- 
tion which  bore  down  not  only  outward  obstacles,  but 
the  still  mightier  obstacles  of  her  own  constitutional 
sensitiveness  and  timidity.  This  early  act  tells — as  it 
partly,  perhaps,  determined — the  story  of  her  life.  A 
mingled  thoughtfulness  and  energy — an  energy  resting 
on  thoughtfulness  and  sustained  by  an  iron  force  of  will, 
fitted  her  for  any  practical  emergency,  and  made  her 
equal  to  any  amount  of  endurance  and  any  acts  of  he- 
roism. 

A  like  happy  union  of  qualities  marked  the  workings 
of  her  intellect.  They  were  characterized  by  equal  ele- 
gance and  strength.  Her  mind  moved  with  a  natural 
and  spontaneous  grace  ;  it  glowed,  as  Mr.  Wallace  ex- 
pressed it,  with  a  certain  "  soft  brightness'"'  which  natu- 
rally generated  the  impression  that  softness  and  beauty 
were  its  leading  qualities. 

It  seemed  scarcely  possible  that  a  mind  of  such  ex- 
ceeding dehcacy  and  refinement  to  which  the  lighter  play 
of  fancy  was  so  thoroughly  congenial,  could  be  equally 
endowed  with  the  sterner  and  more  masculine  attributes. 
And  yet  such  was  the  fact.  The  play  of  her  intellect 
was  not  more  graceful  than  its  workings  were  vigorous. 


THE   RETROSPECT.  417 

The  airy  movement  of  her  fancy  no  more  than  kept  pace 
with  the  measured  tread  of  her  reason.  The  lighter  ele- 
ments of  her  genius  rested  on  a  solid  basis  of  sterner 
qualities.  From  childhood  she  evinced  a  most  various 
and  many-sided  mental  activity.  She  "  lisped  in  num- 
bers/' and  inspired  her  friends  with  no  unreasonable 
assurance  of  her  poetic  promise.  Yet  her  mind  was 
even  more  busy  in  other  directions,  remote  from  the 
paths  of  poesy.  She  displayed  an  eager  thirst  for  knowl- 
edge, great  capacity  of  'intellectual  acquisition,  and  a 
special  delight  in  those  solid  processes  which  call  forth 
the  sterner  powers  of  the  soul.  Her  procuring  the  "  Age 
of  Keason,"  and  noting  down  its  arguments,  that  she 
might  examine  and  refute  them  ;  her  joining  not  only 
the  youths',  but  also  the  older  peoples'  Bible-class,  that 
she  might  listen  to  their  discussions  of  the  profounder  prob- 
lems of  Scripture  ;  her  success  in  mathematics,  and  other 
more  difficult  branches  of  learning — all  are  but  proofs 
of  the  solid  structure  of  her  mind,  and  early  foreshadow- 
ings  of  that  love  and'habit  of  vigorous  mental  action  which 
followed  her  through  life.  While  she  delighted  in  poetry 
and  wrote  elegant  fictions,  she  delighted  equally  in  those 
forms  of  labor  which  demand  patient  research  and  phil- 
osophic generalization.  She  spent  weeks  in  preparing 
herself  to  write  two  or  three  short  notes  on  Buddhism, 
in  the  appendix  to  the  Memoir  of  Mrs.  S.  B.  Judson. 
She  went  with  her  husband  patiently  over  the  pietistic 
and  mystical  writers,  and  her  shrewd  comments  and 
criticisms  probably  contributed  not  a  little  toward  re- 
moving a  slight  mystical  and  ascetic  taint  from  his  re- 
ligious opinions.  She  entered  with  hearty  sympathy  into 
his  dry  dictionary  labors,  and  not  only  solaced  his  hours 
of  relaxation,  but  aided  with  her  acute  suggestions  in 
18* 


418  LIFE   OF   MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

resolving  many  a  knotty  word-problem  ;  while  she  her- 
self attained  a  practical  mastery  of  the  Burmese  lan- 
guage, and  even  an  elegance  in  writing  it,  entirely  beyond 
what  could  have  been  anticipated  from  the  exceeding 
slenderness  of  her  health,  and  her  engrossing  domestic 
cares.  Her  journal  of  1849  shows  upon  what  profound 
and  far-reaching  subjects  she  adventured  her  bold  and 
yet  cautious  speculations  ;  how  her  intellect  followed 
her  faith  across  the  confines  of  the  spirit- world,  touched 
some  of  the  profoundest  mysteries  of  the  invisible,  and 
yet  held  the  conclusions  of  reason  strictly  subordinated 
to  the  teachings  of  the  only  standard.  And  on  the 
great  practical  questions  with  which  our  East  Indian 
missions  were  so  rife  while  she  was  abroad,  she  formed 
decided  views,  influenced  no  doubt  by  those  of  her  hus- 
band, but  reasoned  out  for  herself,  and  held  with  the 
clearness  and  decision  of  independent  convictions.  In 
one  word,  she  had  a  mind  of  great  speculative  and  analy- 
tical power,  that  loved  to  go  to  the  bottom  of  things, 
and  that  was  quick  and  keen,  in  any  abstract  or  practical 
matter,  to  strip  off  the  disguises  that  sophistry  might 
have  flung  around  it,  and  hold  it  up  in  its  genuine  fea- 
tures. Her  soul  swelled  with  the  intellectual  and  moral 
grandeur  of  the  missionary  work,  and  her  essay  on  the 
"  Madness  of  the  Missionary  Enterprise''  is  a  fine  speci- 
men alike  of  the  grace  and  the  power  of  her  mental 
movements. 

Mrs.  Judson  again  united  the  warmest  and  tenderest 
affections  with  great  independence  and  force  of  charac- 
ter. Whatever  course  her  judgment  decided  upon  she 
pursued  with  inflexible  decision  and  unwavering  courage. 
Both  the  breadth  of  her  intellectual  views,  and  her  high 
moral  sense  supported  her  in  the  path  of  right,  and  en- 


THE  RETROSPECT.  419 

abled  her  to  go  forward  in  the  teeth  of  almost  any  oppo- 
sition. Yet  all  this  sprung  from  no  stoical  apathy,  and 
no  indifference  to  the  views  of  others.  She  trod  the  path 
which  she  pursued,  not  because  she  was.  insensible  to 
the  judgments  of  the  world,  not  because  she  did  not  feel 
keenly  both  its  censures  and  its  approval,  but  because 
she  valued  more  than  either  her  own  innate  sense  of 
right  and  duty.  Her  heart  was  full  of  tenderness,  and 
her  nature  most  affectionate  and  confiding.  None  lived 
more  in  the  smiles  of  friends  ;  none  yearned  more  in- 
tensely for  affection  ;  none  repaid  it  with  a  more  enthu- 
siastic and  constant  devotion.  Yet  her  affection,  like 
her  other  feelings,  did  not  expend  itself  mainly  in  words 
and  protestations.  She  did  not  ordinarily  indulge  in 
vehement  professions,  but  left  her  regard  in  large  meas- 
ure to  the  utterance  of  action.  And  of  action  there 
was  no  stint.  She  gave  herself  to  the  service  of  her 
friends  with  the  most  unselfish  and  generous  devotion. 
Indeed  it  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  her  life,  from 
its  beginning  to  its  close,  was  a  continuous  sacrifice  upon 
the  altar  of  affection.  Whatever  of  prejudice  she  in- 
curred as  a  magazine  writer  was  incurred  in  obedience 
to  that  holiest  of  all  merely  earthly  principles,  filial 
love — the  necessity  of  paying  for  a  home  purchased  for 
her  aged  parents.  And  her  sacrifices  were  made  ungrudg- 
ingly, uncomplainingly,  almost  unconsciously.  She 
seemed  almost  wholly  unaware  that  she  was  playing 
the  heroine,  or  doing  any  thing  not  demanded  by  the 
simplest  dictates  of  duty,  and  the  spontaneous  impulses 
of  love.  Sacrifice  was  to  her  not  sacrifice,  for  she  was 
moving  in  simple  obedience  to  the  great  law  of  her 
affections. 

Mrs.  Judson's  character  thus  evinced  a  remarkable 


420  LIFE  OF   MRS.   EMILY  C.  JUDSON. 

and  most  symmetrical  union  of  seemingly  opposite  quali- 
ties. With  all  the  keen  susceptibilities  of  genius  she 
united  the  most  downright  common  sense.  Brimful  of 
romance,  she  contemplated  every  subject  from  the  most 
practical  point  of  view.  Masculine  in  her  force  of  char- 
acter, she  was  almost  more  than  feminine  in  its  tender- 
ness and  delicacy.  Her  strength  of  mind  was  without 
a  particle  of  strong-mindedness  ;  for  none  observed  more 
scrupulously  all  that  belonged  to  the  peculiar  sphere  of 
woman,  or  exhibited  more  of  the  fascinating  loveliness 
of  a  true  woman's  character.  With  a  high  spirit,  that 
would  not  brook  wrong  or  meanness,  she  combined  a 
temper  meek,  gentle,  and  forgiving  ;  with  a  most  gener- 
ous liberality,  the  strictest  business  habits  and  syste- 
matic economy.  Either  of  her  traits  might  easily  have 
been  in  excess,  but  that  it  was  balanced  by  others  equally 
decided.  She  might  have  gone  to  Burmah  as  an  en- 
thusiastic dreamer  ;  but  in  fact  she  did  go  there  with  as 
clear  an  eye  to  the  realities  that  awaited  her  as  if  the 
elepaent  of  romance  had  not  been  in  her  composition. 
She  had,  as  she  herself  terms  it,  "a  certain  dollar  and 
cent  mode  of  looking  at  things,"  which  might  have  de- 
generated into  a  sort  of  hard,  Gradgrind  spirit,  but  this 
was  utterly  precluded  alike  by  the  largeness  of  her  intel- 
lect, the  warmth  of  her  affections,  and  the  richness  of 
her  enthusiasm.  She  had  spirit  enough  to  make  her  a 
heroine — to  lead  her  to  plunge  into  any  dangers  and 
endure  any  hardships — but  no  hak-brained  audacity, 
and  no  love  of  encountering  peril  for  peril's  sake.  She 
weighed  the  sacrifice  and  the  results,  and  went  forward 
because  reason  and  affection  bade  ker^o.  She  was  in  a 
great  measure  regardless  of  conventionalisms  ;  and  yet 
her  instinctive  sense  of  what  was  due  to  the  relations 


THE   RETROSPECT.  421 

she  sustained,  guarded  her  against  any  taint  of  eccen- 
tricity. She  knew  how  to  load  ;  but  she  led  so  that 
she  seemed  to  follow.  She  was  a  shrewd  and  unerring 
judge  of  character,  but  as  kind  and  indulgent  as  she 
was  discriminating.  In  short,  the  delicate  -flower  of 
her  genius  and  sensibility  blossomed  on  a  granite  basis  of 
character ;  but  her  mental  movements  were  so  easy,  so 
graceful,  so  spontaneous,  that  but  for  the  oppositions 
which  she  met,  the  hardships  she  endured,  the  stronger 
elements  of  her  nature  would  have  been  scarcely  sus- 
pected. 

Her  disposition  was  thoroughly  cheerful,  and  she 
possessed  a  buoyancy  of  spirits  that  easily  rose  above 
the  pressure  of  any  ordinary  adversity.  She  had  a  keen 
sense  of  the  ludicrous,  and  a  playful  humor,  often  sup- 
posed to  indicate  a  shallow  nature,  but  in  fact  almost 
an  universal  attendant  upon  a  deep  one.  There  was  in 
her  disposition  no  taint  of  asceticism  ;  no  austerity  of 
temper ;  no  feeling  that  it  is  a  sin  to  let  the  lightness 
of  the  heart  mantle  the  face  with  smiles,  or  a  virtue  to 
gird  with  a  hair-cloth  mantle  a  grieving  or  a  merry  heart. 
Her  sympathies  were  broad,  generous,  and  diffusive. 
She  loved  the  merriment  of  childhood  and  the  gravity  of 
age ;  she  rejoiced  in  the  humblest  joy,  and  she  had  a 
tear  for  the  lightest  sorrow. 

Her  religious  character,  as  well  as  many  other  of  her 
traits,  has  been  most  justly  portrayed  in  the  admirable 
analysis  of  Dr.  Wayland.  I  shall  merely  add  a  few 
supplementary  suggestions.  Her  religion  rested  on  a 
basis  of  early,  deep-seated  conviction,  and  a  thorough 
study  of  the  Scriptures,  with  which  she  had  been  con- 
versant from  her  childhood.  Her  religious  views  were 
evangelical,  and  her  familiarity  with  the  New  Testament 


422  LIFE   OF   MKS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

made  her  competent  to  their  defense.  She  had  great  con- 
fidence in  the  efficacy  of  prayer  and  an  humble  and  con- 
stant trust  in  an  overruling  and  directing  Providence. 
If  her  religious  zeal  for  a  time  declined,  and  she  half 
questioned  the  genuineness  of  her  christian  experience, 
yet  it  was  speedily  rekindled,  and  her  after  life  was  a 
beautiful  exemplification  of  the  power  of  a  spiritual 
faith.  Her  religious  character,  indeed,  partook  of  the 
general  structure  of  her  mind.  There  was  no  cant — 
little  demonstration — little  outward  profession — ^but  the 
graces  of  faith,  and  patience,  and  consecration  wrought 
themselves  into  her  life,  and  when  the  vail  was  inci- 
dentally lifted  upon  her  spiritual  nature,  one  got  a 
glimpse  of  the  depth  and  fullness  of  the  fountain  out  of 
which  such  streams  were  flowing. 

All  the  relations  of  life  Mrs.  Judson  fullfilled  with  ex- 
emplary fidelity.  As  a  daughter  she  so  deported  herself 
that  she  might  well  feel  that  she  had  no  occasion  to  fear 
retributive  undutifulness  from  those  children  whom 
Providence  had  committed  to  her  care.  As  a  sister,  she 
was  affectionate  and  tenderly  thoughtful  ;  as  a  wife,  she 
displayed  unlooked-for  and  admirable  qualities.  It  was 
fortunate  for  her  that  Providence  gave  her  a  husband 
whose  capacious  intellect  and  noble  heart  could  draw 
forth  all  her  powers  of  love  and  reverence,  and  nurture 
and  develop  the  faculties  which,  in  a  less  happy  mar- 
riage, would  have  turned  in  upon  themselves,  and  it  was 
no  less  to  her  credit  that  she  appreciated  her  advantages, 
and  opened  her  whole  mind  and  heart  to  the  ennobling 
influence  of  such  companionship.  That  her  husband  and 
herself  were  "  deliciously  Jiappy,"  was  a  natural  result 
of  the  union  of  two  natures  at  once  so  prodigally  endowed, 
and  so  thoroughly  congenial. 


THE   RETROSPECT.  423 

As  a  mother,  it  is  scarcely  possible  to  overstate  her 
merits.  Affectionate,  watchful,  patient,  judicious,  im- 
partial, carrying  ever  a  firm  but  gentle  hand,  fathoming 
thoroughly  the  diverse  dispositions  of  her  children  ;  at 
once  alluring  them  into  the  path  of  virtue  and  leading 
the  way,  she  guided  them  with  a  judgment  and  affection 
which  shielded  her  from  even  any  suspicion  of  error. 

As  a  missionary,  she  entered  heartily  into  the  work  ; 
was  assiduous  in  learning  the  language,  and  as  soon  as  it 
was  mastered,  hastened  to  make  herself  useful  in  every 
department  of  effort  open  to  her — conducting  the  female 
religious  meetings,  instructing  in  the  Scriptures,  guiding 
inquirers,  and  aiding  the  new  converts  to  larger  spiritual 
attainments. 

Her  literary  character  I  have  perhaps  sufficient-ly  dis- 
cussed, and  can  now  only  glance  at.  It  is  when  we  turn 
to  this,  and  compare  what  she  did  with  what — had  life 
and  health  been  given  her — she  might  have  done,  that 
we  feel  the  full  force  of  the  sentiment  contained  in  the 
lines  at  the  head  of  our  chapter,  and  mourn  that  the 
leaves  and  blossoms  of  her  genius  were  shattered  "  before 
the  mellowing  year."  That  she  can  never  take  the  place 
in  literature  which  her  high  endowments  should  have 
won  for  her,  grows,  we  fear,  out  of  the  very  nature  of 
the  case.  The  child  of  poverty  and  privation — ^her  life 
one  long  struggle  with  disease — pressed  with  engrossing 
cares  and  toils — and  finally  cut  off  just  as  the  blossom 
of  genius  ordinarily  ripens  into  fruit,  she  could  give  little 
more  than  specimens,  first  fruits  of  what  would  have 
been  the  harvest.  But  these  specimens  are  of  exquisite 
quality,  and  augur  most  favorably  for  that  harvest  had 
sunshine  and  dew  been  permitted  to  bring  it  to  perfec- 
tion.   Her  stories,  racy,  original,  truthful,  springing  from 


424  LIFE   OF   MRS.    EMILY    C.   JUDSON. 

the  very  core  of  her  heart,  originated  a  partially  new 
school  of  magazine  writing,  and  from  their  intrinsic  ex- 
cellence will  always  find  admiring  readers.  They  are 
genuine  of  their  kind,  and  therefore  no  changes  of  liter- 
ary taste  and  fashion  can  render  them  wholly  obsolete. 
When  she  leaves  the  paths  of  fiction,  her  style,  losing 
little  of  its  sparkle  and  nothing  of  its  grace,  assumes  a 
simple  dignity  befitting  the  themes  it  discusses. 

In  poetry,  Mrs.  Judson  wrote  enough  to  show  her 
ability  to  achieve  a  high  place  in  female  authorship. 
That  many  of  her  pieces  have  but  little  more  than  ordi- 
nary merit  we  may  readily  grant,  without  disparaging 
her  poetic  powers.  Many  of  them  were  written  when 
very  young  ;  most  of  them  before  time  and  trial  had 
developed  all  the  depth  and  strength  of  her  genius.  It 
is  a  recognized  and  just  rule  to  judge  the  artist  not  by 
his  inferior  productions  but  by  his  best ;  for  these  alone 
show  the  actual  measure  of  his  endowments.  The 
swiftest  runner  may  lag  in  the  race,  but  the  tortoise  is 
condemned  to  inevitable  slowness.  The  wise  man  may 
sometimes  utter  folly,  but  only  a  miracle  can  cause  the 
words  of  wisdom  to  distil  from  the  lips  of  a  fool.  Homer 
sometimes  nods  ;  but  no  sleepless  effort  can  convert  an 
ordinary  rhapsodist  into  a  Homer. 

Applying  this  principle  to  Mrs.  Judson — judging  her 
by  her  best  poems — and  of  these  there  is  a  sufficient  num- 
ber to  show  that  they  are  not  literary  accidents,  but  that 
the  soil  in  which  they  sprung  was  as  deep  as  it  was  ge- 
nial— ^we  must  ascribe  to  her  poetical  capacity  of  a  high 
order,  and  lament  that  her  early  death  snatched  from  us 
not  only  a  beautiful  life,  but  many  a  sweet  strain  that 
was  already  quivering  on  the  exquisitely  strung  harp  of 
her  genius.     These  strains,  unheard,  unborn  on  earth, 


THE   KETROSPECT.  425 

it  is  delightful  to  believe  blend  their  untainted  music 
with  the  melodies  of  angels.  The  specimens  contained 
in  this  volume  make  good  our  claim  for  her  genius,  and 
show  taste  and  feeling,  passion  and  imagination,  beauti- 
fully combining  for  high  poetical  effect.  I  add  one 
more  piece  in  which  she  portrays,  in  exquisite  imagery, 
the  great  joy  and  the  great  sorrow  of  her  life.  The  closing 
stanza  of  "  My  Angel  Guide,"  has  been  enthusiastically 
and  justly  admired  ;  but  it  is  not  the  finest  in  the  poem. 
The  leading  thought  in  the  stanza  may  be  regarded  pos- 
sibly as  partaking  slightly  of  the  nature  of  a  conceit ; 
but  the  third,  fourth,  and  fifth  stanzas  are  as  faultlessly 
as  they  are  exquisitely  beautiful.  Each  one  furnishes  a 
picture  for  an  artist.  And  with  this  we  drop  the  cur- 
tain, and  leave  the  child  of  sorrow  to  her  dawning  joy — 
to  the  beckoning  of  that  "  one  steady  star,"  soon  to  fade 
before  the  "  Bright  and  Morning  Star,"  whose  radiance 
shall  bathe  her  spirit  through  eternity. 

MY      ANGEL      GUIDE. 

I  gazed  down  life's  dim  labyrinth, 

A  wildering  maze  to  see, 
Crossed  o'er  by  many  a  tangled  clue, 

And  wild  as  wild  could  be ; 
And  as  I  gazed  in  doubt  and  dread, 

An  angel  came  to  me. 

I  knew  him  for  a  heavenly  guide, 

I  knew  him  even  then, 
Though  meekly  as  a  child  he  stood 

Among  the  sons  of  men,— 
By  his  deep  spirit-loveliness 

I  knew  him  even  then. 


426  LIFE   OF  MRS.   EMILY   C.   JUDSON. 

And  as  I  leaned  my  weary  head 

Upon  his  proffered  breast, 
And  scanned  the  peril-haunted  wild 

From  out  my  place  of  rest, 
I  wondered  if  the  shining  ones 

Of  Eden  were  more  blest. 

For  there  was  light  within  my  soul, 
Light  on  my  peaceful  way. 

And  all  around  the  blue  above 
The  clustering  starlight  lay  ; 

And  easterly  I  saw  upreared 
The  pearly  gates  of  day. 

So,  hand  in  hand  we  trod  the  wild, 

My  angel  love  and  I — 
His  lifted  wing  all  quivering 

"With  tokens  from  the  sky. 
Strange,  my  dull  thought  could  not  divine 

'Twas  lifted— but  to  fly  ! 

Again  down  life's  dim  labyrinth 

I  grope  my  way  alone. 
While  wildly  through  the  midnight  sky 

Black,  hurrying  clouds  are  blown. 
And  thickly,  in  my  tangled  path. 

The  sharp,  bare  thorns  are  sown. 

Yet  firm  my  foot,  for  well  I  know 

The  goal  can  not  be  far. 
And  ever,  through  the  rifted  clouds, 

Shines  out  one  steady  star, — 
For  when  my  guide  went  up,  he  left 

The  pearly  gate^  ajar. 


Books  Published   hy  Sheldon   <jb    Co. 


ADONIKAM     JUDSON. 

A  Memoir  of  the  Life  and  Labors  of  the  Rev.  Adoniram  Judson,  D.D., 
By  Francis  Watland,  D.D. 

Illustrated  with  a  fine  Portrait  of  Dr.  Judson.    Two  volumes  12 mo.  Price  $2, 
Or  two  volumes  in  one.    Price  $1.25. 

"  "We  are  glad  to  see  this  valuable  biography  of  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of 
the  age  in  which  he  lived,  in  one  volume,  and  at  a  price  so  low  that  its  circulation  must 
be  very  extensive.  Dr.  Judson  was  a  man  of  undaunted  resolution,  wonderful  natural 
gifts,  high  attainments,  and  earnest  and  self-denying  piety.  He  was  exposed  to  many 
dangers,  and  passed  through  many  perils  for  the  love  he  bore  to  his  Saviour,  and  the 
souls  of  men.  When  Judson  first  went  out  to  India,  many  regretted  that  one  of  such 
Une  abilities  should  engage  in  such  a  work.  But  his  name  will  never  disappear  from  the 
history  of  the  world,  and  only  eternity  can  reveal  the  effects  of  his  labors  in  the  salvation 
of  souls,  and  in  awakening  the  missionary  spirit  in  the  churches."— Pres&yie/'.  Banner. 

"  This  biography  is  so  well  known  that  we  need  only  say  of  the  copy  now  before  us,  that 
it  is  a  cheap  edition,  giving  the  two  volumes  in  one,  and  thus  placing  the  book  within  the 
reach  of  all.  None  interested  in  missionary  enterprise,  none  able  to  appreciate  the  life 
of  a  great  man  doing  a  great  work  nobly,  ably,  and  with  much  self-denial,  should  fail  to 
read  iV— Philadelphia  Jottrnal. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  noblest  monuments  to  true  worth  that  the  world  has  ever  produced. 
Though  dead,  yet  in  these  printed  volumes  his  spirit  will  live  and  speak  to  this  and 
coming  generations,  in  strains  of  power  and  eloquence  such  as  his  own  tongue  could 
never  give  birth  to.  It  is  an  occasion  of  gladness  to  all  the  friends  of  missions,  that  one 
so  well  qualified  for  the  task  has  embalmed  all  this  on  the  printed  page.  A  sublimer 
theme  could  not  bo  furnished  any  man  since  the  apostles.  Let  the  Memoir  find  its 
way  to  every  family  in  the  land,  and  it  will  not  fail  to  create  new  sympathies,  and  enlist 
fresh  zeal  in  that  cause  to  which  Judson  gave  his  all." — Philadelphia  G.  Chronicle. 

SEKMONS    TO    THE   CHUECHES. 

By  Francis  Wayland,  D.D.    1  vol.  12mo.    Price  85  cents. 
CONTEN'TS. 


V. — Slavery  to  Publio  Opinion. 
VI. — The  Perils  op  Riches. 
VII. — Prevalent  Prayer. 
VIII.— Kesponsibility  for    the  MoraXi 
Condition  of  Others. 


1. — The  Apostolic  Ministry. 
II,— The  Church  a  Society  fob  the  Con- 
version OF  the  Would. 
III. — CnPvifiTiAN  "Worship. 
IV. — A  Consistent  Piety  tub  Demand  of 
the  Age, 

"It  grapples  with  living  evils  and  errors,  and  will  make  a  practical  impression."— 
Cincinnati  Christian  Herald. 

"  This  is  a  book  truly  worth  printing,  and  worth  reading.  They  are  discourses  on  im- 
portant topics,  admirably  written  by  a  noble  Christian." — American  Presbyterian. 

"Dr.  "WaylfCid  is  a  clear  thinker,  and  a  strong  and  elegant  writer.  His  Sermons  ara 
models  worthy  of  study."— OArisWaTi.  Intelligencer. 

"They  are  emphatically  sermons  for  the  times.  The  plowshare  of  Christian  truth  and 
duty  is  driven  with  unrelenting  hand  into  the  festering  evils  of  our  popular  Christianity, 
and  there  are  some  passages  which  should  make  the  ears  of  professing  Christians  tingla" 
—Southern  Presbyterian. 


Books   Published   by   Sheldon   <jb   Co, 


S WITZEKL AND. 

By  S.  Iren^us  Prime,  D.D.,  author  of  "Europe  and  the  East,"  "  Power  0/ 

Prayer,"  "Bible  in  the  Levant,"  &c.,  &c. 

Illustrated  with  six  choice  Views  of  Swiss  Scenery.  1  vol.  12mo.  Price  $1. 

ILL  US  TEA  TlOIfS. 
Intehlaciien  and  the  Jung fe ATI.        |     Hospice  of  St.  Bernard. 
The  Monumj:nt  at  Luceene.  Ouamouni  and  Mt.  Blanc. 

The  Devil's  Beidge.  |      Under  the  Gie3baoh  Falls. 

"Dr.  Prime  never  knew  how  to  write  a  dull  sentence,  and  prompted  by  such  natural 
beauty  as  abounds  in  the  path  of  the  Swiss  tourist,  he  has  here  presented  an  account  of 
his  journeyings  worthy  of  himself  and  his  theme.  The  publishers  increase  the  attractive 
appearance  of  the  book  by  incorporating  with  the  text  some  well  executed  illustrations 
of  prominent  scenes.*' — Boston  Post. 

"The  impressions  received  from  a  Summer's  ramble  among  the  mountains  of  Switzer- 
land are  familiarly  described  in  this  agreeable  volume.  In  addition  to  numerous  lively 
pictures  of  the  sublime  scenery  of  that  region,  the  volume  contains  sketches  of  personal 
adventure,  accounts  of  people  met  with  by  the  author,  incidents  of  domestic  and  social 
life,  and  recollections  of  celebrated  historical  events  called  forth  by  the  localities  in  which 
they  occurred."— iVew  York  Tribune. 

"  Dr.  Prime  has  delineated  the  characteristics  of  Swiss  scenery  and  the  interest  of 
Swiss  history,  con  amove,  and  therefore  made  both  attractive.  To  those  who  have 
Bailed  on  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  or  traversed  the  Alps,  this  volume  will  prove  a  delightful 
memorial ;  and  to  those  who  have  yet  this  experience  to  anticipate,  the  work  will  yield 
valuable  information  in  a  most  agreeable  way.  It  is  cleverly  illustrated  with  wood 
cuts."— ZT.  T.  Tackerman. 

"  Every  tourist  can  engage  our  attention  when  he  describes,  discourses,  rhapsodises, 
with  them  for  a  theme;  and  Dr.  Prime,  a  tourist  of  more  than  common  education,  intel- 
ligence and  experience,  is  sure  of  increasing  even  his  wide  circle  of  readers  by  the  publi- 
cation of  this  pleasant  and  instructive  volume." — Boston  Transcript. 

THE    NONSUCH    PKOFESSOR 

In  His  Meridian  Splendor ;  or,  The  Singular  Actions  of  Sanctified  Christiana 

Laid  Open.    In  Seven  Sermons. 

By  William  Secker. 

"With  an  introduction  by  C.  P.  Kratjth,  Jr.,  D.D. 

1  vol.  12 mo,  cloth.       Price  $1. 

"We  are  almost  prepared  to  endorse  the  judgment  of  a  distinguished  critic,  who 

speaks  of  this  as  'a  beautiful  little  book,  worth  its  weight  in  gold.'    It  comes  of  the 

Purit.an  age,  and  first  saw  the  light  in  1660.    But  the  quaintness  of  its  style,  rich  iu 

Btriking  thought,  will  scarcely  make  it  less  acceptable  now  than  then.    We  might  select 

whole  paragraphs,  where  each  successive  sentence  is  characterized  by  the  terseness  and 

weight  of  a  proverb." — New  York  Evangelist. 

"  It  abounds  in  striking  epigrams  and  happy  conceits,  and  its  thoughts  are  often  set 
over  against  each  other  in  antitheses  and  contrasts,  after  the  style  of  the  age ;  but  these 
pecui'iarities  and  quaintnesses  only  serve  to  make  the  book  the  more  attractive.  It  ia 
read  with  best  effect  a  little  at  a  time — and  will  prove  to  the  reflective  reader  a  rich  mine 
of  thoughts  for  each  day,  and  of  topics  for  devout  meditation." — New  York  Examiner. 
"It  contains,  however,  much  of  common  sense  and  practical  importance,  and  it  pre 
Bents  a  fine  opportunity  for  young  preachers  of  this  day  to  gather  suggestions  which  may 
be  of  advantage  to  them  in  the  composition  of  their  weekly  discourses." — Boston  Post. 


Books  PuhUshed  by  Sheldon  S  Co. 

SUMMER  PICTUEES  FROM  COPENHAGEN  TO 
VENICE. 

ByEev.  Henry  M.  Field. 

].  voL  12mo.     Price  $1. 

"  A  delightful  book.  The  writer,  -who  is  the  senior  editor  of  the  New  York  Evangelist^ 
makes  a  summer  tour  with  a  joyous  and  genial  companion,  through  the  most  picturesqua 
and  interesting  parts  of  England  and  the  continent,  and  coming  into  graceful  contact  with 
eminent  personages,  and  refined  society,  his  '  pictures'  are  a  succession  of  scenes,  that  ara 
surveyed  by  the  reader  with  constant  entertainment  and  satisfaction.  The  author  is  ob- 
uervant  of  men  and  manners :  he  is  intelligent  and  candid :  his  historical  and  literary 
references  and  illustrations  are  copious,  apposite  and  instructive,  and  his  style  lively  and 
piquant,  so  that  it  is  a  pleasure  to  go  with  him  from  place  to  place,  or  linger  with  him  in 
Venice  or  Vienna,  in  Denmark  or  Sweden.  We  are  indebted  to  the  author  for  a  pleasant 
hour  of  railroad  travel  with  his  book  in  hand,  and  we  commend  it  to  our  readers  as  one 
of  the  happiest  summer  books  they  can  take  in  hand,  by  the  way  or  in  the  shades  of 
home." — New  York  Observer. 

"  Our  excellent  and  well-beloved  brother.  Rev.  Henry  M.  Field,  of  the  Evangelvit,  in  a 
Beries  of  entertaining  and  instructive  letters  to  the  journal  Trhich  he  so  ably  edits,  gave, 
last  year,  outlines,  or  sketches,  of  his  European  tour.  These  letters  have  been  re-writ- 
ten, amplified,  and  prepared  for  the  now  eager  demand  for  intelligence  respecting  the 
scene  of  the  present  war.  Mr.  Field's  pictures  have  been  drawn  with  a  graphic  pen,  and 
the  book,  we  doubt  not,  will  be  everywhere  wanted." — New  York  Intelligencer, 

"  We  have  read  this  book  with  unfeigned  gratification.  It  is  written  in  a  sprightly, 
graceful  style,  and  gives  graphic  descriptions  of  scenes  of  travel  in  1S53.  Many  of  these 
are  now  scenes  of  great  interest,  on  account  of  the  stirring  events  transpiring  In  connec- 
tion with  them.  These  lively  and  vivid  descriptions  can  not  fail  to  entertain  the  general 
reader,  while  they  impart  useful  knowledge  of  places,  and  personages  and  events,  worth 
knowing  something  about,  as  seen  in  the  light  of  the  authors  observations." — Vermont 
Chronicle. 

"  The  readers  of  77ie  Evangelist  have  enjoyed  the  sprightly  and  instructive  communi- 
cations  of  its  editor  from  Europe  ;  but  we  are  glad  they  are  not  to  have  a  monopoly  of 
Buch  good  things.  Mr.  Field  is  an  observing  and  genial  writer,  and  his  recent  observa 
tions  upon  countries  which  are  now  conspicuous  iu  the  movements  of  war,  will  have  just 
now  a  timely  value.  It  is  a  very  attractive  book,  combining  the  historical,  the  descrip- 
tive, and  the  narrative  in  a  pleasing  and  graceful  style." — Independent. 


THE  "  PRECIOUS  STONES  OF  THE  HEAVENLY 
FOUNDATIONS." 

By  Augusta  Brown  Garret. 
1  vol.  18mo.     Price  $1. 

**A  book  of  great  beauty,  and  fuU  of  attractive  discourse  on  heavenly  and  divine 
things." — New  York  Observer. 

"  The  articles  are  brief,  and  include  many  choice  specimens  of  prose  and  poetry.  It  it 
especially  adapted  to  lay  on  the  center-table,  or  elsewhere,  for  the  casual  reader."— 
Congregationalist. 

"  The  book  is  a  suggestive  one,  and  needs  but  a  slight  examination  to  become  a  favor- 
l»  with  the  religious  portion  of  the  community." — Boston  Post^ 

"  Most  of  the  pieces  are  original,  but  some  are  selected  from  congenial  authors. 
Among  the  gems  in  the  book  are  a  series  of  reflections  on  some  of  the  figurative  external 
beauties  of  the  Heavenly  City.  The  writer  dismisses  her  labors  with  the  prayer  that 
they  may  be  the  favored  medium  of  calming  the  tempest  in  some  troubled  minds,  of 
healing  some  stricken  hearts,  and  of  lifting  the  soul  to  the  contemplation  of  heaven.  W« 
cheerfully  commend  the  book  as  worthy  a  place  in  every  family  library " — Waterbur]f 
American. 


Books  Published  hj  Sheldo?i  S   Co. 


THE  WIFE^S  TEIALS  AND  TKIUMPHS. 

One  volume.     l2mo.     Printed  oa  Rose-tinted  Paper,  and  handsomely 

bound.     Price  $1. 

From  tlie  Philadelphia  North  American. 
"The  characters  arc  distinct  and  well-sustained — the incidetits  natural  and  varied — tlie 
style  unambitious,  but  graceful.     There  is  no  display  of  learning — but  ample  knowledge 
and  high  culture  are  everywliere   unconsciously  visible.     The  book  is  handsomely  '  got 
up'  iu  its  externals,  and  ladies  especially  will  liud  it  good  reading." 

From  the  Boston  Journal. 
"  It  is  an  English  tale,  descriptive  of  the  aristocratic  class,  and  is  of  more  than  ordinary 
interest.     Its  characters   are  life-like   and   are   brought  tangiblv  before  the  mind  of  the 
reader.     The  incidents  are  truthful  and  subserve  the  purpose  of  the  tale,  and  the  interest 
is  very  well  sustained." 

From  the  N.  Y.  Courier  and  Inquirer. 
"  The  tone  of  the  work  is  excellent,  for,  though  not  a  religious  novel,  it  is  pervaded 
by  a  religious  spirit.     The  publishers   have  issued   the  book  in  an  exceedingly  neat 
manner." 

From  the  Salem  Register.  • 
_  "This  is  a  story  of  English  life,  and  well  worthy  of  the  heautiful  dress  which  the  pub- 
lishers have  given  to  it.     To  say  that  it  is  equal  in  interest  and  high  moral  tone  to  the 
author's  pi-evious  works  will  be  praise  enough  to  those  who  Tiave  read  the  productions 
named  in  the  title-page." 

From  the  Troy  Arena. 
"  The  tale  is  simply  and  delightfully  told,  and  its  teachings  are  as  correct  as  they  are 
practical  and  impressive." 


LIFE    IN     TUSCANY. 

By  Mabel    S.    Crawford. 
1vol.     12mo.    Price  $1. 
From  the  New  York  Tribune. 
"The  accounts  given  by  the  author  ot  the  religion,  the  nranners,  and  general  society  of 
Tuscany  will  be  found,  to  a  high  degree,  instructive  a.otl  tmeitaining." 

Fiort  the  New  Orleans De^Ai. 
"The  aim  of  ihe  author  of  thit; -volume  is  to  go  cut  of  the  beaten  track  of  sketch- 
writers  about  Italy,  and  to  give  the  reader  glimpses  of  the  inner  life  and  every-day  habits 
and  characteristics  vf  the  people  as  she  saw  tliem  during  a  residence  of  ten  months  in 
Tuscany.  She  v  -rites  with  earnestness,  and  often  with  considerable  grace  and  graphicness." 

From  the  Congregationalist. 
"A  book  far  above  usual  volumes  of  travel-sketches  in  its  style,  and  in  the  interior  de- 
tails which  it  gives  of  Tuscan  life.      It  is  worthy  of  reprinting,  and  will  repay  careful 
reading.     We  wish  all  publishers  who  reprint  London  books  would  make  their  works 
come  as  near  as  this  does  to  London  excellence  of  typography." 

From  the  New  York  Observer. 
"It  presents  vivid  sketches  of  the  most  noteworthy  places  and  things,  with  the  men, 
women  and  manners,  arts,  religion  and  reminiscences  of  that  classic  and  beautiful  coun- 
try. Those  who  have  visited  Italy  will  recognize  the  fidelity  of  the  sketches,  which  con- 
vey  to  the  reader  a  fair  idoa  of  the  attractions  of  the  most  delightful  country  in  the  south 
of  Europe." 


Books  Published  by  Sheldon  cC*    Co. 


THE    CHINAMISSION, 

Including  n,  Sketch  of  the  Geography,  Natural  History,  Customs,  Language, 
Laws  and  Religions  of  China,  together  with  a  history  of  Christian  Missions 
in  that  empire,  including  also  Biographical  Sketches  of  about  fifty  Mission- 
aries, male  and  female,  who  have  died  in  the  service  of  that  Mission. 

By  "William  Dean,  D.D. 

1  volume.       12  mo.       Price   $1. 

From  the  Albany  Statesman. 
"  '  The  China  Mission'  seems  something  more  than  the  record  of  a  spiritless  existence 
among  the  strange  people.  The  author  appears  to  have  realized  that  the  extension  of  the 
kingdom  of  Christ  was  to  have  been  achieved  by  study,  observation  and  adaptation — that 
the  voice  of  the  Lord,  if  heard  from  mortal  lips,  must  be  pitched  in  cadence  with  the 
mortal  ears  and  understanding  to  which  it  was  addressed." 

From  the  Christian  Advocate. 
"  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  a  word  in  favor  of  this  book.    The  title  will  excite  a  desire 
to  read  it,  and  the  name  and  opportunities  of  the  author  will  be  sufficient  assurance  of 
the  quality  of  his  work.     The  book  contains  a  most  interesting,  and  doubtless  reliable 
account  of  that  curious  people,  in  whom  the  world  is  now  taking  so  much  interest." 

From  the  Neio   York  Observer. 
"  Dr.  Dean  writes  with  a  free,  graphic  and  facile  pen,  impartial  in  his  judgments,  strong 
in  his  convictions,  and  honest  in  his  purposes.     The  records  of  such  a  mission  as  that  of 
Chinii'in  the  hands  of  such  a  man  as  Dr.  Dean  are  of  permanent  value  to  the  church 
and  the  world." 

From  the  New  York  News. 
"  The  biographical  sketclies,  with  which  the  work  fitly  closes,  arc  very  interesting  and 
touchingly  executed." 

From  the  ndlifaz  Provincial  Wesleyan. 
"It3  biographical  sketches  arc  full  of  interest,  and  throw  great  light  on  what  the  gos- 
pel has  already  achieved  there." 


THE  GOSPEL  IN  BURMAH. 

By  Mrs.  Macleod  Wylie.     1  vol.     12mo.    Price  $1.    (In  press.) 

Notices  from  the  English  Press. 

"  The  work  is  written  in  a  clear  and  simple  style,  abounding  with  happy  Scripture 
mottoes  and  pertinent  quotations ;  while  the  story  itself  possesses  an  interest  so  deep  and  so 
fascinating  as  to  enchain  the  reader's  attention  till  its  close." — Nonconformist. 

"  Mrs,  Wylie  has  accomplished  her  work  with  much  distinctness  and  literary  ability. 
The  order  of  the  narrative  is  admirably  maintained,  while  the  incidents  selected  are  cha- 
racteristic of  general  features,  so  that  the  historical  plan  is  never  lost  sight  of  in  details. 
We  cordially  commend  the  book  to  the  perusal  of  our  readers."— iVeios  of  the  Churches. 

"A  more  agreeable  book  on  a  missionary  subject  it  has  rarely  been  our  lot  to  meet — 
more  full  of  attractive  information  on  its  theme,  more  scriptural  in  its  tone  and  substance, 
and  more  unaflfectedly  graceful  in  its  style." — Calcutta  Christian  Intelligencer. 

"  Mrs  Wylie  has  performed  a  most  acceptable  service ;  sincerely  do  we  thank  her  for 
her  trouble." — Freeman. 

•'  A  charming  volume,  which  we  would  recommend  to  all  who  are  interested  in  this 
singular  people." — Book  and  its  Missions. 


BooTcs  Published  by  Sheldon  cfe   Co, 


THOKNTON'S  FAMILY  PKAYEES  ; 

TEAYEES  ON  THE  TEN   COMMANDMENTS,  Etc. 
To  WHICH  IS  ADDED  A  FAMILY  COMMENTARY  ON  THE  SeRMON  ON  THE  MOUNT, 

By  the  late  Henry  Thornton,  M.P.    Edited  by  Bishop  Eastburn. 

1  vol.     12mo.    Plain,  15  cents.     Eine  edition,  red  edges,  $1. 

From  the  Episcopal  Becorde,i\  Philadelphia 
"This  collection  of  family  prayers  is  placed  in  England  as  the  most  faithful  and  reliable 
that  can  be  used,  and  we  cheerfully  unite  in  this  opinion.    The  present  edition  is  neat  and 
complete." 

From  the  Christian  Witness,  Boston. 
"  This  is  a  new  and  neat  edition  of  one  of  the  best  volumes  of  family  prayers  which  has 
been  published.     It  has  been  long  and  favorably  known  in  this  country.     Probably  no 
published  volume  of  family  prayers  has  ever  been  the  vehi-cle  of  so  much  heartfelt  devo- 
tion as  these.    They  are  what  prayers  should  be — fervent,  and  yet  perfectly  simple." 

From  the  Echo,  Toronto. 
"The  prayers  are  expressive  of  deep  piety  tempered  with  a  sound  judgment,  the  lan- 
guage being  forcible  and  concLse,  keeping  always  within  the  limits  of  sober  humility,  and 
never  inflated,  or  running  into  exaggeration.  They  appear  to  express  what  most  Christians 
would  desire  to  say  when  kneeling  before  the  throne  of  grace,  and  what  most  would 
deem  appropriate  to  their  daily  wants  and  circumstances  both  of  body  and  soul." 


THE    PKICE    OF    SOUL    LIBEETY, 

AND  WHO   PAID  IT. 

By  Henry  C.  Fish,  D.D. 

1  Tol.     18mo.     Price,  40  cents. 

From  the  New  York  Chronicle. 
"  This  little  book  contains  a  condensed  record  of  the  various  cases  in  which  the  Baptists 
have  in  various  ages  suffered  for  their  radical  idea  of  religion,  as  a  'matter  of  intelligent 
conviction  and  voluntary  choice.'  As  a  denomination,  they  liave  from  the  apostolic  age 
repelled  the  idea  of  a  religion  imposed  from  without,  by  the  act  of  parents,  by  hereditary 
succession,  priestly  manipulation,  or  any  thing  apart  from  the  personal  individual  self  of 
tlie  actor  or  worshiper,  in  repenting,  believing,  and  consecrating  his  life  and  services  to 
Christ,  by  a  voluntary  submission  to  baptism.  This  view  of  Christianity  has  in  all  ages 
been  the  great  antagonism  to  Church  and  State  establishments,  restraint  upon  personal 
freedom  in  matters  of  worship  or  of  belief,  and  to  the  union  of  those  born  after  the  flesh 
and  tliose  born  of  the  Spirit  in  outward  Church  organizations,  as  the  great  source  of 
corruption  and  apostacy  to  the  so-called  Christian  world.  And  as  the  opponents  of  this 
Baptist  view  of  soul-liberty  have  always  been,  and  are  to  this  day  in  the  majority,  our 
denomination  has  in  every  age  suffered  persecution,  and  are  still  the  objects  of  general 
dislike  and  distrust.  Though  the  book  is  a  compilation,  it  is  none  the  less  valuable,  and 
we  commend  it  to  the  universal  and  impartial  attention  of  the  public." 


WAY  MAEKS  TO 

APOSTOLIC   BAPTISM; 

Or,  Historical  Testimonies  demonstrating  the  Original  Form  of  thb 

Rite  as  ordained  by  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  administered 

By  his  Holy  Apostles. 


1  vol.     18mo.    Price,  35  cents. 


Princeton  Theological  Seminary-Speer  Library 


1   1012  01040  7734 


DATE  DUE 


&****^' 

A— — — ' 

I' 

GAYLORD          #3523PI       Printed  in  USA 

